


Change My Ways

by reading_is_in



Series: Cambridge Blues [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, College, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_is_in/pseuds/reading_is_in
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the verse begun with 'Live My Life as It's Meant to Be'. In the morning, nothing is simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Renly woke abruptly to the feel of a warm body pressed to him. His mind flickered back automatically to the previous night – where had he been and who had he brought back – before he realized he hadn’t brought anyone back to the dorm room in months. Not since Loras had –

\- Loras. Jesus Christ. His eyes flew open. Last night he’d been fucked by the beautiful fresher with the attitude of bulldozer.

Well.

In sleep Loras looked like a Renaissance angel, golden curls falling across his face, slim muscled body relaxed into white bedclothes. Were it not for the unpleasant feeling of come dried between them and the rapidly returning memories of an extremely vigorous shag, Renly would almost believe him an innocent. _But he is an innocent_ , he thought guiltily. Not in sexual matters, but in pretty much everything else. There were less than three years between them, but in that moment, it felt like a massive gulf of experience. 

As if on cue, his phone rang: the funeral march he’d programmed especially for Stannis. The headache that had only been a dull hum since he’d woken spiked in response. He screwed his eyes shut and ignored the phone, and a moment later it buzzed with a text. Renly extended one arm and retrieved the phone from the floor where it had somehow ended up yesterday.

 

_Renly,_

_Phone me immediately._

_Stannis._

_Sent at 07:44 16/11/12_

 

Renly rolled his eyes. Somehow his brother seemed incapable of internalizing the function of caller display, addressing every text to its recipient and signing off with his name. 

“Who are you texting?” Loras mumbled, shifting against Renly and disturbing the distribution of warmth. 

“No one,” Renly said.

“Better not be one of your other boyfriends,” Loras raised his head a little and gave him a sceptical eyebrow.

Renly smiled. “Oh yes. Three of them, actually, plus the wife I keep in Costa Rica for tax purposes.”

“Don’t joke,” Loras shoved him.

“You started it. Ow,” He laughed. Loras was frowning a little too seriously, and Renly made a mental note that   
secret wife jokes might be a little beyond the pale. He apologized by kissing him on the lips, dropping the phone and wriggling back down in the bed again. He had the ridiculous urge to pull the blankets up, trapping the two of them in a cave from which he could avoid the outside world. He hadn’t felt like that about someone he’d woken up with since – well, ever actually.

Huh.

“Who was it really?” Loras asked, but he didn’t sound upset anymore.

“My brother,” Renly admitted.

“The Prime Minister?” Loras’ eyes got adorably wide. Renly chuckled:

“No. Robert doesn’t call. When I say ‘my brother’ I usually mean Stannis.”

“So what did Stannis want?” Loras lay back down with his head on his crossed arms, and stretched like a big golden cat. Renly was distracted. He considered lying, but realistically there was no way he could keep the ramifications of Loras’ own choice from him long.

“To talk to me,” Renly admitted. He picked up one of Loras’golden curls and ran it between his fingers. It sprang back immediately, making him smile a little despite himself. “No doubt Cersei went right to him.”

“Do – shall I come?”

“No.” Renly rubbed his eyes, the headache nagging at him. A vision of Robert flashed before him, and idly he wondered if one day he’d pay a more serious price for his own occasional bouts of alcohol abuse.   
Loras glared. “I won’t _embarrass_ you.”

“I know it’s not –“ Renly sighed and stopped playing with Loras’ hair, sitting up properly and leaning back against the headboard. “It’s just – I’d rather limit Stannis to one revelation at a time. He’s difficult.”

“You mentioned. Hey,” Renly clearly saw it as something striking occurred to Loras. His face was extremely readable. Renly liked that, and found it novel. Loras sat up too, and wriggled around so that he was half-sitting in Renly’s lap, facing him: “Stannis knows you’re gay right?”

“He knows. I mean, I never did the whole coming out speech to my brothers or anything-“ Renly shuddered at the prospect – “But I’m 99% sure he knows. Robert, on the other hand, has pretty much walked in while I’ve been getting fucked and still has no idea.” 

Loras laughed, then scowled. “Getting fucked? By whom?”

“Just some guy.” Renly regretted saying it. It figured Loras would be the possessive type.

“Was he your boyfriend?”

“No,” Renly leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth to placate him. And to stop him talking, if he was being honest. He didn’t feel like talking anymore. He felt like sex. Having Loras sit astride his thighs him was both comforting and arousing, his firm ass interestingly close to Renly’s dick. Normally Renly preferred taking it – his every day like was so tightly controlled, every smile and gesture a public façade that enjoyed the sensation of being _taken_ in the bedroom – but he could _definitely_ get on board with topping for Loras. A happy little thrill went through him at the thought that they would now be able to try _all_ the possibilities, as often as they could ensure their privacy, and Loras gave in, rolled his eyes and started kissing him back properly.

The phone rang again a few minutes later, but this time nobody noticed.

 

*

He ignored the phone through an early-lunch/late breakfast, a shower and seeing Loras off to his practice.

“You’re not coming?” Loras pouted.

Renly froze for a second. Turning out to a big game was one thing, but as a sane person who had given up all contact sports the second school PE stopped being mandatory, he had his limits. Watching the Blues drill was definitely past them. Then:

“I’m teasing,” Loras broke out in a sunny smile. “God, you’re too easy.”

Renly laughed and gave him a little shove out the door.

“And you call _me_ gullible,” Loras kept grinning, and something unfamiliar and deep fluttered in Renly’s stomach.

He ploughed through a couple of dry journal articles, eyes flicking periodically to his phone, and when the funeral march droned off again he sighed and answered it. ‘Have to face the music sometime’.

“Dear brother.” He swivelled the desk chair to face the unmade bed. 

“Renly, stop this nonsense immediately,” Stannis said.

“Which nonsense specifically? You’ve been telling me to stop some kind of nonsense pretty much my entire life…”

“You know precisely what I’m referring to. Reconcile with Ms. Lannister. She will require a formal apology, as will her father I expect –“

“No,” Renly interjected.

“ - Lord Lannister is a proud man, but not unreasonable.”

“Stannis, you….” Renly was suddenly disgusted. “You know what, don’t play the innocent party. You know _exactly_ what the most honourable Lord Lannister is, I have no doubt, Mr. Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

“He’s a businessman.”

“He’s a war criminal.”

Stannis made a dismissive sound. Renly could picture his face perfectly, pinched and annoyed, yet certain in his ability to right the situation. He realized Stannis had good reason to think so – Renly protested and complained and argued, but ultimately, he had always done what his family needed.

But this was a step too far.

“I won’t do it,” he said to Stannis. “I can’t. This undermines everything I believed we stood for – everything I thought _you_ stood for, once.”

“Renly, be realistic,” Stannis said sharply.

“I am,” said Renly simply. “I can’t realistically collude in this.”

“This is about more than your selfish little personal crises. The stability of this country depends on Robert’s leadership. I don’t need to remind of you the debts we owe the Lannisters, nor our continued dependence on-“

“Blood money, yes I understand.”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me!” Stannis was really angry now. “Your entire future is on the line here. You’re aware I can cease to fund your tuition at any moment. Not to mention your _living expenses_.”

“You’d cut me off?” That was a little – alarming, but could hardly back down now. “Well that’s noble of you. Fine – fine. Enjoy your petty revenge.”

“Renly, so help me, if you hang up on me-“

Renly pressed disconnect and sat back in his chair, frowning. Well, fuck. He spun around again, opened his desk drawer and found a packet of aspirin. Trust Stannis to bring his headache back with a vengeance. He made a face at the gritty sensation of dry-swallowing pills, but couldn’t be bothered getting up to find water. That reminded him of Loras bringing him water last night when he’d been stupidly drinking, and he smiled to himself. 

He could get a loan. They had student loans, didn’t they? He’d find out how to apply for one. Or – he could get a job. No, wait – they weren’t allowed part time jobs, were they? Well, who would know? Money was something of an abstract concept to Renly. He knew that both his family and the country were in deep debt, but it had no impact on his life. His college bills, which included food and housing, went to Stannis, who paid them without comment. A stipend appeared in his personal account every month, which he spent mostly on clothes and going out, because Cambridge was too small to drive and connected to London by a fast train. He rarely _saw_ money. Now, if Stannis really meant to carry out his threat, he would apparently find out what happened when it dissappared.

Well, nothing was due to the college for a couple of months. He’d figure something out by then. For now, he was going to enjoy being in a – well – a relationship. With Loras. He put his books away, grabbed a jumper, and left determined to meet his boyfriend from practice.

 

*

Cersei stared at the screen, horrified. ‘Don’t read the comments’, she told herself, even as she scrolled down.  
 _‘Heiress in Distress!’_ , blared the Huffington Post gossip page: _‘Sexy Socialite Cersei Lannister Spotted Leaving BF’s College Red-Eyed and Puffy-Faced’_. Her teeth ground involuntarily as she continued to take in the so-called journalist’s dire little column:

_Blonde Cersei Lannister, heir to the Lannister Bank fortune, was papped leaving Emmanuel College’s North Court alone and in tears yesterday. Emmanuel is home to Lannister’s long-time boyfriend Renly Baratheon, brother to the PM, and the two were rumoured to be married next year. Now celeb-watchers speculate the couple’s relationship may be on the rocks. For a couple supposedly in love, the two haven’t looked so cosy for some time now, and celeb-watchers speculate…_

It went on like that. Enlarged front and center was an awful blurred photograph of her leaving via the hobbit door, face red with rage and tears and her hair all in disarray. Her skirt was rucked up from manoeuvring through the stupid door, her stockinged thigh in display to the voyeuristic camera.

 _Cersei is a dumb slut_ , read the top-rated comment.

 _Her twin bro is hot tho_ , was addended.

 _Excuse me, she goes to Cambridge_ another keyboard warrior defended her.

 _Yeah cos her dad bought them a library wing_ \- 27 likes.

Cersei wanted to scream. She wanted to hurl the laptop across the room. How dare they? How dare _he_? This was Renly’s fault, really. Him and that little twink he was living with. He was so _stupid_. Did he think she _cared_ who he wanted to fuck? She would have let him keep his toys, she would have….now she was humiliated, her reputation in tatters, sure to be dragged through the mud by every gossip columnist and filthy tabloid rag –

“What’s wrong?”

His voice should have calmed her. Instead she just wanted to slap him. She turned in time to see Jaime step off the wrought iron staircase: Tywin preferred marble and metal even for his interiors. It was Cersei’s house, technically – father had given it to her for their 18th birthday, when Jaime got the Lamborghini – but the neo-Roman arcs and vaulted ceilings felt as much like home as anything did to her, and the staff knew how to take care of it. Besides, she wanted somewhere settled whilst she finished her studies. No-one pretended Jaime was Cambridge material.

Cersei just sat back and let him see the screen.

“Renly dumped you?” Jaime raised his eyebrows. “Brave man.”

“Idiot,” Cersei corrected. “He’s suddenly grown a conscience or some other rubbish. Ugh.” Her hands clenched into fists involuntarily. 

“His loss,” Jaime shrugged and bent down as though to kiss her

“Jaime!” she shoved him off. “ _Look_ at it! Look what people are saying about me.”

“Why do you care? They’re no-one. Unemployed losers at home in the day watching Jeremy Kyle,” he scorned, and made to close her laptop. She slapped his hand.

“I’ve. Been. Publically humiliated,” Cersei bit off. “Don’t you even care?”

“Cersei….” he tried to placate her the way he always did, sliding his strong hands to her shoulders, slipping under her blouse. “It will blow over.”

“Who do they think they are?” She shook her head. “The _Baratheons_. They’d be no-one without us. They’re plebs. They behave like plebs. Blood will out.” She looked over her shoulder at Jaime. “I want revenge for this.”

“I could beat him up,” Jaime offered. “Make him not so pretty for his queer boyfriend?”

“Oh, please.” Cersei rolled her eyes. “Have you actually matured past the age of twelve? Get off me.” She stood up, jerking out of his touch, and reached for her mobile. “I’ll handle it myself, like I always do. What's father's new secretary's number?"


	2. Chapter 2

“Dire. Everyone except Tyrell. You, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” Coach Anderson pointed at Loras, who grinned, both at the praise and the unintended double entendre. “The rest of you were a disgrace today. Does this look like a high school field? Do I look like your PE teacher?”

“Sir, it’s just, there are exams after the break and-" the centre forward offered tentatively.

“And you are supposed to be the elite athletes who can _manage_ your academic work without compromising yourselves on the field. You’re not here to get drunk and go to pub crawls. Or are you? Henderson? Fossoway? Let me know, because there are plenty of gifted young players desperate to be standing where you all are right now, and at this moment, I could frankly cut any one of you and put one of them in your places. Except you.” He glanced at Loras. “Actually, Tyrell, you can go.” Loras contained his laughter. He was aware that the team was glaring at him as he made his way to the showers, but whatever. He couldn’t help it if he was brilliant. Nor could he help it if he was on top of the world today. He’d read once that some rugby players would abstain from sex for 48 hours before a big game. _‘They must be old’_ , he reflected.

He was whistling as he left the changing room, waving to his teammates who were just glumly heading towards the showers, when a large shadow fell over him. 

“Oh – hi Brienne,” he said unenthusiastically. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re really good,” she said at the same time, then awkwardly, “Um, watching.”

“Do you….know someone on the team?” He wasn’t doing a very good job of acting pleased to see her. There was something about  
Brienne that just annoyed him. She was so – somber. And clumsy. Plus she was taller than him by a good 2 inches.

“Well – you,” Brienne said. “But no, I just love the game.”

“Emmanuel has a girls’ team,” Loras said pointedly.

“Oh - I know. My parents don’t want me wasting my time on it. Not that sport is a waste. But they don’t think it’s appropriate for girls, and -….” Brienne blushed hard, struggling to communicate. Loras was bored. “So – can you give this to Renly?” Out of nowhere, she thrust a book at him. 

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s his. He leant it to me. All the copies were out of the library.”

Loras looked at the book. It was a hardback volume of critical essays, titled _Marxist and New Historicist Critical Theory_.

“Tell him thank you,” said Brienne hopefully. “It was great.”

“Alright,” Loras took the book.

“And the annotations were really insightful. You’re lucky to share a room with Renly.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag.” The very subject of their conversation interposed between them. Loras jumped. He felt vaguely annoyed, like he should have realized Renly was there or – something. “Good practice?”

“Yeah,” said Loras, and turned slightly to him, expecting – a hug? A quick kiss? No-one was watching except the girl.

“Thanks Brienne,” Renly took the book.

Loras glared. “Okay then, bye,” he said, and practically dragged Renly off the field.

“Loras, that was rude,” Renly scolded him.

“She’s weird,” he complained.

“She’s a perfectly nice girl,” Renly said, “and she’s overcome a lot to get here.”

“You realize she’s _in love_ with you,” he deliberately made it sound like a particularly virulent STD, repressing the urge to ask when exactly Renly and Brienne had gotten cosy enough for that sort of revelation.

“Well you should sympathize,” Renly grinned, then surreptitiously squeezed Loras’ hand as they crossed the road. Then he shrugged: “she has a little crush on me. It does no harm to be a bit kind to her.”

“It does if you give her the wrong idea.”

“So far as she knows, I’m still marrying a Lannister,” Renly pointed out.

“Yeah but for how much longer.” Now Loras was just grumbling for the sake of it, and he knew it. It wasn’t like Brienne was Renly’s _type_ or anything. He shook himself, and looked properly at _his_ boyfriend. “Is something wrong?” he frowned. Renly was joking and speaking lightly, but there was something subdued in his eyes. He couldn’t be regretting …-?

“No,” said Renly quickly as he slid his college key into the lock for the hobbit door, and avoided Loras’ eyes as they stepped onto the court. Winter was coming in: the old stones of Cambridge seemed to absorb the cold, and the sole tree in North Court was dropping brown leaves fast. 

“Yes there is.” Loras checked both ways as they entered stairwall, then turned so he was pinning Renly gently against the wall. “We’re together now, you have to tell me.” He cupped his face.

“Possessive much?” Renly was smiling, but the worry was still there in his dark eyes. “Look, it’s…” he did his own visual check, then slipped his hands around Loras’ hips, rubbing the muscles of his lower back. “Probably nothing. My brother got predictably dickish over the Lannister thing and made some noises about cutting me off.” He rolled his eyes.

Loras’ own eyes widened. “But won’t your parents – ohhhh, God, can we forget I said that?”

“It’s fine,” Renly smiled dryly.

“No, I’m really sorry,” Loras was upset. Renly really seem bothered, but how could he not be? Loras hated to think he’d caused him even a moment’s distress. The very thought of losing a member of his family made Loras feel sick and cold.

“Loras, I don’t even remember my parents,” Renly shook his head, still smiling that crooked smile. “I was a baby when they died. Only try not say stuff that in front of my brothers, okay?” He was trying hard to lighten the mood, so Loras went along with him.

“Well, if worst comes to worst, you’ll just have to be my kept man and cook and clean for me. And give me sexual favours on demand, obviously.”

“Do you want me to start on that right away?” Renly did one more quick check that they were alone on the stairwell, then started to kiss his neck.

“Yes, I do,” said Loras, giggling a bit: “I’m starving, make me lunch.”

 

*

 

The red-headed woman stood politely as Cersei approached. She offered her hand, which Cersei shook briefly – her skin was warm and her grip business-like.

“Ms. Lannister,” she said in a smooth, slightly accented voice which Cersei couldn’t place. “The Chancellor sends his apologies for not coming in person. You’ll understand he’s extremely busy.”

“I do,” Cersei smiled coolly. She had specifically requested the meeting at a time she knew Stannis would be unavailable. His schedule could be easily obtained from father’s office – she knew Tywin was already threatening to pull funds from Robert Baratheon’s re-election campaign, but she couldn’t personally care less whether the fat drunk kept his seat or not. _This_ was a personal matter, and she’d judged the charismatic PA to the Chancellor her surest means to success. “Thank you so much for meeting me Ms. Asshai.” 

“Melisandre, please,” the woman smiled. The gold crucifix she never removed from her throat caught the low light, and reflecting the glimmer in her eyes. It was five fifteen, full dark, and in place of the harsh electronic lighting that dominated most of the building, her office was fitted with subtle red-tinted bulbs in the shapes of candles. It was distinctly non-regulation, and gave Cersei hope that the rumours of Stannis being utterly under her thumb were not exaggerated.

“Then you must call me Cersei,” she took a seat, smoothing her modest knee-length skirt down.

“Cersei,” still smiling. Despite herself, Cersei’s eyes were drawn to the painting that dominated the opposite wall: a particularly gory rendition of Christ’s Passion, all stark ribs and bleeding sides. The Lannisters were nominally Church of England, in a Christmas-and-Easter kind of way, more used to empty crosses and bright white windows than blood-stained Roman Catholic grandeur.

“Matthias Grünewald,” Melisandre supplied. “Challenging, isn’t it? I do believe it’s so important not to gloss over the sufferings of our saviour, even in the transcendence of the flesh.”

“I – quite,” Cersei agreed, uneasy for just a second. She composed herself. “Indeed, Ms. – Melisandre, it is a matter touching faith that brings me here today.”

Melisandre smiled warmly. She reached across the table and took Cersei’s hand. Cersei endured it. “Sister,” Melisandre said. “I’m so happy. You have committed to renounce the Anglican hersey? I knew at once you were a woman of faith. From the first moment I saw  
you. There is a light about you.”

 _‘Tamara Eccelstone’s _Show_ for Blondes,_ ’ Cersei thought: _‘ask my stylist’_.

“Thank you,” she smiled and looked down. Whatever, it couldn’t hurt: “I have indeed been searching in the depths of my soul for enlightenment, and there is a terrible matter on my conscience. It touches both the honour of the Chancellor and the governance of the country.”

“Please,” Melisandre urged. “Go on.”

Cersei drew a breath. “As you are aware, I was shortly to be engaged to the Chancellor’s brother…”

* 

Loras asked Renly to come back to Highgarden for the half term.

“What’s Highgarden?” asked Renly.

“My home,” said Loras, like anyone should have known that. “The estate is called Highgarden.”

Renly giggled.

“What?” Loras frowned.

“It’s just,” Renly shook his head, stretching out on the bed. They were sleeping in Loras’ bed most nights now, it being further from the window, but he liked to lie on his own and read. “You realize normal people don’t live on estates right?”

“Like you grew up in a council house.” 

“I grew up in a house,” Renly said. “On a street.”

“And where do you live now?” 

“Here,” he answered simply, and Loras looked so devastated Renly had to laugh again. “Oh my God, Loras it’s fine. Honestly. Please don’t start imagining I need saving or something. I think it’s lovely that you’re close to your family, but I just – well, you don’t miss what you never had.”

“Stannis wouldn’t actually cut you off though?” Loras insisted. “If you need to live here?”

“I doubt it. And if he does…look, Emmanuel has money. They help students out with hardships funds all the time. Brienne was telling me, there’s this thing called a rent redistribution scheme-“

“But you shouldn’t have to rely on charity!” Loras was horrified.

“It’s not charity. It’s communism in miniature. ‘From each according to his ability-'”

“Don’t patronise me,” Loras glared. It was kind of adorable. “Anyway, come. I’m booking the train today.”

“No, thank you.”

“Is this still about ‘corrupting’ me? Cos that’s crap. They’re totally fine with the gay thing, you know. And you’re all-" he gestured, "- charming. Clever. Well dressed. My mother will like you more than she likes me. My sister might hit on you a bit, but she’ll only be teasing.” 

“I’m sure.” Renly was getting quite an impression of the sister. “But really, Loras, I just think it’s – too soon. Plus I have _tons_ of work to do. I am in third year, and-…” _‘My future just got a lot more uncertain and I should probably work like a person about to enter an extremely poor job market with a great degree’._

“Alright fine,” Loras sighed. Then: “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Give me something to remember you by?” Loras smiled brightly and through his own textbook down, bad mood all forgotten. Renly burst out laughing:

“Where the hell do you get these lines?”

“My sister made me watch a lot of rom coms. Then I got a bit older and started watching a lot of gay porn, and the two kind of….meshed.” He intertwined his fingers to illustrate. Renly got up and walked over to him, knelt down and untwined his hands to kiss them instead.

“What would you like me to give you?” he asked.

“Hmmm, let me think.” Loras reclaimed his hands, then slid them backwards to the nape of Renly’s neck, playing with the fine hairs there. “I would very much like you to give me a memorable blowjob.”

Renly couldn’t stop laughing.

“Porn rom-com fusion,” Loras reiterated.

“I did promise,” Renly conceded, and let Loras reposition himself and undo his trousers. He used his mouth to tease him through his boxers first, the sounds Loras was making and the feel of his tight arse under his hands enough to get him rapidly hard.

“Take them off me,” Loras gasped.

“Patience,” Renly admonished, and backed off to remove his shirt, belying his own words by tearing a couple of buttons. Loras immediately started to run his hands over his body, paying special attention to his nipples, but got distracted when Renly leaned in to run his tongue along the rim of Loras’ boxer shorts. Sick of waiting, Loras shoved them down himself, dick already more than ready, and Renly paused to call up the old skill which he hadn’t used, oddly, since the beginning of summer. Loras was pretty much average-sized, but Renly loved the look of his dick – he didn’t even mind the taste, and to be frank, Loras was probably arrogant enough without nature having gifted him disproportionally. He was saying:

“Ohmygodohmygodrenlyohmygodhowareyoudoingthat-“

and Renly wanted it to last, so he pulled off with one smooth motion to look up at Loras. His boyfriend looked utterly gorgeous like this, desperate and unashamed, and Renly felt a thrill of triumph at his power of this lovely sensual creature. Loras seemed to take the break as indicating that he should be reciprocating more, so he reached one arm down awkwardly to work at Renly’s own dick –

“It’s fine,” Renly pushed him back. “This is for you, okay?” 

He took mercy, and finished him, rather proud of himself – he had learned to swallow years ago, but he was out of practice. Loras fell backwards onto his elbows, panting:

“Come here,” he said, so Renly let him finish him by hand, although it wasn’t particularly urgent. He felt, if anything, overwhelmed with affection and unsettled by his rapidly growing attachment to Loras. Loras turned, tiredly, to press his face into Renly’s chest and shoulder, and Renly brought his arms up around him.

“You’re amazing,” said Loras happily. “Let me take you home.” Not: ‘come home with me’, but ‘let me keep you’. Renly tried to remember if anyone had expressed such a sentiment to him before. He couldn’t think, so he just said,

“At Christmas.”

Loras made a placated sound.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limpy is real. Half-term at Cambridge is not.

Seeing Loras off at the train station felt rather too risky – Renly wouldn’t be able to stop himself kissing him in public. A journalist had called yesterday asking for a statement from him on the latest tax hikes, then tried to turn the conversation to Cersei. Renly gave some vague and quotable soundbites on the unpredictable nature of relationships, then no-commented his way out of the conversation. He turned his phone off for half a day, and said goodbye to Loras in their dorm room.

College was immediately empty – he really _did_ have a lot of work, plus any number of friendly acquaintances if no actual friends. This was the normal state of the holidays, and he had never thought twice about it. Now he was melancholy without Loras, partly regretting not going to Highgarden with him, and slightly panicked at his rapidly increasing dependency.

Telling himself to get work, he settled the topic for his final dissertation and collecting some books for initial background reading. On the way back from the library he got a sandwich on his college card, found he had no appetite, and stopped in the paddock to feed most of it to Limpy. The duck of the politically-incorrect name was his secret favourite: a small but brightly feathered mallard with one bad leg, he was frequently shoved out of feedings by the other males, or just not fast enough to get any. Renly made his personal business to smuggle him human food, a secret sentimentality. He hoped someone would feed Limpy when he graduated.

He managed to lose himself in work for a good few hours, and when he turned his phone back on he had four new messages. All of them were from Loras’ phone:

 

 _I’m on the train. :D_  
                                                                 Sent at: 15:07 18/11/12

 _What r u doing? I miss you already!_  
                                                                 Sent at: 16:01 18/11/12

 _Why is ur phone off? Text me plz :(_  
                                                                 Sent at: 17:15 18/11/12

_Good evening Mr. Baratheon. This is Margaery Tyrell. I must say I’m sorry you couldn’t join us for this holiday. Don’t mind Loras’ repeated texts, he’s just a bit insecure and needs rather a lot of affirmation – I am working on him, but it is a project in progress. I look forward to meeting you in person. Best regards, M. P.S. – I am also working on his dress sense.  
_

       Sent at 18:23 18/11/12

 

He had to laugh at that, and elected to phone Loras rather than text him back: he didn’t particularly fancy some too-knowing seventeen year-old-girl intercepting his messages. The sound of Loras’ voice did the unexpected – made his stomach knot a bit, something like longing...it was ridiculous. They’d been together only a few hours ago. They didn’t say much – there was little to say – but by the time he hung up Renly knew he’d be unable to sleep that night without going out for at least a couple of hours first. A couple of hours turned into several hours at Kambar and then Fez – it had to be said about Cambridge that for a small town supposedly full of serious scholars, the club scene was good – a few drinks, and a proposition from a hot Greek bartender – and a hollow sensation of emptiness that came home with him, and the creeping realization that he might be, possibly –

\- in love.

 

*

 

“—this enterprise, even greater opportunities for disadvantaged youth, in London and beyond.”

It was the applause that roused Loras from his semi-stupor – that and Willas stepping on his foot under the table. Shooting a sideways glare at his brother, who maintained perfect composure with his eyes forward on the speakers’ platform, Loras joined in the clapping, and the middle-aged delegate stepped down. His mother got up and shook her hand, beaming, before stepping up to the podium. Her dress was picked out to co-ordinate with the banner overhead, and the thin twirled streamers and party favours adorning the ballroom. The Rose Foundation was her baby, really – father was still active in the management of the business, and grandmother moreso (though grandmother managed to keep a finger in every pie, as she put it, and the benefits and galas bore her stamp in their military efficiency and organization.

“Thank you so much, Angela,” mother was saying. “And now, ladies and gentlemen –”

 _‘Dinner will be served’_ , Loras willed silently. _‘Dinner will be served’_.

“ – it is my pleasure to introduce our next speaker, the Head of Rose Community Grants Department, Mr. Oliver Moreland.’

_‘Nooooo!’._

“Loras dear,” grandmother leaned across the table and smiled cuttingly. “Do accompany me outside for a moment.”

“N- now?” Loras asked. Normally he would take any excuse to escape a speech, but he knew that look in grandmothers’ eyes, and he was suddenly sharply aware that he hadn’t been acting entirely properly that evening.

“Now,” said Olenna dryly: “At my age it’s better not to put things off long.”

She grabbed his arm as they slipped out to the corridor before the next speaker started, more steering him than relying on him for support. The hem of her silver-pearled gown swished authoritatively behind her, and the great doors swung silently back into place.

“Now my boy, what on _earth_ seems to be the problem?” She reached up to adjust his tie with a little bit too much force.

“Nothing grandma,” he said meekly.

“Nonsense,” she scorned. “You’ve been scowling all night, fidgeting more than usual, and generally embarrassing yourself in an extremely public and high profile venue. It doesn’t reflect well, dear. I know these benefits aren’t as - _exciting_ \- as a young person like yourself might wish, but you’ve never been quite as grudging of your precious time as this evening. We can’t all be born a Tyrell, dear - the Rose Foundation does extremely important work.”

“I know it does, grandma.”

“And so? Why the face? Is your new young man giving you trouble?”

“I –“ Loras gaped a little bit. He knew grandma was omniscient, but the speed and facility with which she found things out still caught him off guard sometimes.  
“I think you can put your romantic travails aside for one night, don’t you?”

“He’s not - giving me trouble....,” Loras said uncertainly.

“What then? The parents? They know who you are, I assume?”

He took small comfort that she didn’t know Renly’s actual identity.

“His parents died when he was young.”

“So what on earth is the problem?”

“It’s -...” _’Wow’_. ‘Unsentimental’ didn’t cut it when it came to grandma. “Basically,” Loras blew out his breath, “I’m seeing this amazing guy who had a pretty secure situation and everything lined up for him....and then it kind of...fell apart. Because of me. Well, not _because_ of me. There was something else. But I guess me being around didn’t help the situation. So now his future is all...”

“Uncertain?” Grandma blinked her blue eyes.

“Yes,” Loras agreed fervently.

“Why, what a positively unique problem.”

Really, the expression ‘burn’ should have been invented for Grandma.

“Now look dear,” she said in her chewing-out voice, “Your young man is a Cambridge student, which in itself gives him a platform of the sorts the majority of the British population could only dream about. Moreover, should the two of you continue your relationship, he will have the benefit of association with the Tyrell family, a not-inconsiderable advantage. Now consider the persons the Rose Foundation is designed to aid. I daresay both you and he are indulging in an unnecessary amount of melancholy.”

“I suppose,” Loras said.

“What’s that?”

“I mean yes grandma.”

“That’s right dear.” She adjusted his tie again. “Now, I’ll expect this boy for Christmas dinner. We must get a measure of what he’s made of: his capabilities, etcetera.”

“He already promised to come,” said Loras, and considered spilling the rest of the story, but decided that could wait for another time.

“Well done,” Grandma patted his cheek. “Now smile. Properly. That’s better. Your hair is becoming ridiculous, get it cut before you return to college. Ah! Dinner at last,” she raised a hand to the waiters about to enter with silver-covered trays. “I thought they intended to starve us to death. Chop chop now, the salmon won’t wait.”

 

*

 

Five days of missing someone more than he’d thought physically possible, nightly phone calls doing very little to alleviate it, and finally - finally Renly could tell himself Loras would be here tomorrow. When he was young, he used to play this game waiting for Christmas or his – ‘tomorrow I can say tomorrow’s Christmas’ – ‘tomorrow I can say, tomorrow I can say tomorrow’s Christmas’ –the expectancy always being much better than the actual event. He had made some progress on his dissertation, so that was something, and evaded a couple of ‘whats up where r u these days’ messages on Facebook with ‘work overload :( catch up soon xx’. When his phone rang on Friday morning, he was surprised: Loras didn’t call before ten on the assumption that Renly would either be asleep or wishing fervently that he was, and other people tended to text him. When the name showed on caller ID, his stomach dropped a little:

“Hi – Robert...” he said uncertainly.

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then Renly heard Robert breathe in:

“It’s not true, is it?”

“What?” Renly asked carefully.

“Fucking slander,” Robert muttered. “I’ll have their fucking jobs.”

“What?” There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“If the press gets hold if it deny everything. Not like there’s anything to deny. It’s fucking defamation of character.”

“WHAT, ROBERT?”

“STANNIS’S WHORE OF AN ASSISTANT , IS WHAT! She’s going around calling you a bleeding faggot. On the ‘authority’ of Cersei Lannister. What did you do to piss her off? Just deny everything. Send Cersei some bloody flowers. No, diamonds. Have Stannis send something shiny to distract the bitch.”

“Robert,” Renly drew in a deep breath. “I, uh...well, it’s true.”

“What’s true?” He was doing it on purpose. Being delibarely obtuse until the last possible second he would have to take the truth on board.

“I broke up with Cersei. And, well, I’m gay.”

Silence.

“Robert.”

“You know Stannis is Catholic now.”

Renly started laughing. Slightly hysterically, perhaps: “Stannis is Catholic now? STANNIS IS CATHOLIC NOW? Is that your official comment, Mr. Prime Minister?”

“Shut the fuck up. He won’t employ you. It’s – bloody hell, Renly, what the fuck? You don’t mean it. You’re going through a phase. It’s – fuck, it’s not natural, it’s –“

“I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen,” said Renly calmly, and to his own surprise. Well, there was no going back now. A deep sense of fatalism settled over him.

“And the – what – the fuck – no, you girlfriends! The redhead...”

“Alynne? She was a friend.”

“The little dark one –“

“Jeyne Swan. She was _your_ girlfriend, Robert. For three months,” Renly winced. “Look, I’m gay. Stannis knew already. Now he’s - got religion or whatever it is, maybe that’s a problem for him. Is it going to be a problem for you?”

Pause.

“I need Stannis,” said Robert finally.

“I see.”

“He does the budget, you know I’ve got no head for that sort of stuff, I need him...” for a moment , Robert was almost apologetic. “Anyway, it’s just – look. Have you tried women? I can get someone to-“

“Oh God no,” Renly cut him off. “Robert, if you send me a prostitute, I swear to God almighty I will – I will – photocopy your DUI and send it to Tywin Lannister.”

“You’re not queer,” Robert insisted. He was getting angry. There was something else there, behind the words:

“Robert, have you been drinking?”

“I just found out my little brother’s a faggot, what the fuck do you think?”

“It’s nine o’ clock in the morning,” Renly was appalled.

“Always happy hour somewhere.”

“Robert, that’s disgusting. You are out of control. You should not be intoxicated at nine o’ clock in the god damn morning.”

“DON’T FUCKING MORALIZE AT ME. HOW DARE YOU?”

Renly closed his eyes. He was tired of this. He just wanted to hang up. Time to draw this to its inevitable conclusion. “I suppose that’s that then. You need Stannis, and Stannis won’t tolerate me, so I’m out of the party.”

“Renly-"

“No,” he drew a breath. Oddly enough, it was Loras he thought of. Loras who thought he was so good. So brave and genuine and bright with potential. And for  
the first time in life, he had someone to be those things for, instead of just cultivating the appearance. “You know what? Your party has lost its way, Robert. This country is on its knees, you’re drunk at work, and Tywin god damn Lannister is pulling the strings of your government. I don’t want to work for you. I don’t want to work for Stannis. I want to work for the people of this country.”

“YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCKING BRAT, YOU THINK YOU’RE SO-”

“Goodbye, Robert,” Renly said, and ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think, is the sequel going okay? Bear in mind I didn't plan this when I wrote _Live my Life_ , but I do now have an idea of where to go with this.


	4. Chapter 4

“What happened?” was the first thing Loras demanded the second he dropped his bags in the dorm room. He’d spoken to Renly just a few hours ago, and he’d sounded terrible. At first he tried the whole ‘nothing’, routine, but Loras wasn’t having that for a second:

“I’ll just, I’ll tell you when you get here,” Renly said. “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

Well, Loras was here. He’d gone without sex for a week and it was a true sign how deeply he cared about Renly that jumping him was only the second thing on his mind right now. He barged over to him, feeling his face set into a scowl at Renly’s evasive glance: Christ, he’d never thought that being in a relationship would get him so god damn angry.

“Is it Stannis?” he demanded.

“No. Well, yes. And Robert.” Renly sighed and sat down on his bed, picking at the covers. “Basically, I’m out of the family.”

Loras felt his jaw drop.

Renly shrugged.

“But – they can’t – how can they even _do_ that? You’re their brother. They can’t just....” he gestured helplessly. 

“I’m guessing _brother_ means something a little bit different to you than it does to me,” said Renly dryly. Loras considered that. His older brothers were the first people he would go to with a serious problem – unless it was a relationship issue, in which case it would be Margaery. Of course they both pissed him off on a semi-regular basis, but the first emotions that came to mind when he summoned either of their images were affection and admiration. For all their squabbling, the Tyrell siblings knew could depend on each other when the chips were down, and the thought of his life without any one of them was incomprehensible.

“Well,” Loras said at last. “Well, fuck them then. They don’t deserve you.” He picked Renly’s hand off the bedspread and clasped it between both of his own. 

“You’re mine now.” He kissed him quickly.

“That’s sweet.” Renly smiled sadly. “But – Loras...college bills are sent out in 3 weeks. I literally don’t know what I’m going to do about mine. I need to...talk to Brienne.”

“You – excuse me?” Loras dropped his hand. Renly had to laugh at whatever expression had come over his face.

“That came out wrong,” he apologised. “Look, it’s just – Brienne gets her bills covered by the college because her parents can’t support her. I’ll have to apply for that. Find out about forms or whatever. And I’ll need to take out a student loan for tuition fees.”

Loras wrinkled his nose. The whole thing made him decidedly uncomfortable. It was just so – degrading. He was sure if Renly would just come home, meet grandma, charm her, and talk about his political ambitions a bit...evrything would be quietly taken care of. No fuss, no embarrassment. It was all part of being attached to the Tyrell family.

“Loras,” said Renly dryly. “I can tell what you’re thinking.”

Loras narrowed his eyes: “On top of everything else, you’d better not be psychic. That’s just unfair.”

“Just spent a lot of time around rich people,” Renly grinned, his first proper smile since Loras had entered the room. It warmed something inside him. “I missed you,” he said softly, and slipped his arms around Loras’ waist. Loras wrapped his arms around him and hugged him.

“It’ll be alright,” he said, pressing a kiss to Renly’s dark hair. “Everything will work out somehow.” A trite sentiment, maybe, but one he had lived his life by....still, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit of guilt or unease even as he said it, because what if things _weren’t_ alright somehow, what if things _didn’t_ work out this time? He’d never been involved in such a – well – _complicated_ problem before. 

“Yeah,” said Renly unconvincingly, and shifted to indicate he wanted to lie down. Loras moved with him so that they were still holding each other as they lay on their sides. “You cut your hair,” Renly frowned, pulling back a bit.

“Grandma made me,” Loras admitted. 

“I love your hair though,” Renly pouted, and pulled out what remained of a curl to make it spring back.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” Loras rolled his eyes. “Want to swap?”

“No, because then I wouldn’t be able to admire it. Unless I spent my life in front of a mirror. Don’t say it,” he threatened, as a cheeky grin played at the corners of Loras mouth.

“Anyway it grows super fast,” Loras told him. “In two weeks you won’t even be able to tell it was cut.”

“I bet you were the cutest little kid,” Renly teased him, “with your golden curls. Show me a picture sometime.”

“Only if you show me one.”

Instead of answering, Renly started to kiss him with more intent, which was unfair, because Loras was still an eighteen year old boy and he hadn’t had sex for a week, and really, sex might not be the answer to everything, but in his experience, there were few problems or situations in which it wasn’t a temporary improvement.

 

*

“Renly!” Brienne’s eyes went wide as saucers as she opened her door. “Um, hi.”

“I’m taking you up on that offer for a cup of tea – but I’ll come back if it’s not convenient,” Renly smiled, not meaning to be flirtatious, but he clearly saw the fluttery response it produced in Brienne. Loras did say that ‘flirtatious’ was Renly’s default, but he was deliberately trying to tone it down here.

“No – no – it’s convenient!” Brienne said. “My roommate’s out. Please, sit down.” She hurried over to put the kettle on. Hers was a small room, meticulously ordered, with her books and files arranged alphabetically and not a visible speck of dust. She’d mentioned once that her father was in the military, and he supposed some of that rubbed off on her. “How are things? Did you see your personal tutor yet?”

“I don’t exactly know who my personal tutor is,” he admitted.

Brienne tsked. “Well that’s the first thing we’ll have to sort out. Email the head of third year and ask him.”

“Also, I got the loan forms.” Was it taking advantage of her? She didn’t _act_ like it was. She specifically told him to bring her the forms as soon as he got them. Sure enough, with a task in hand, Brienne brightened and focused:

“That’s great! Do you have them here?”

He drew the pack from his bag. Brienne was all business until they got to part where he had to tick ‘both your parents have died’, then came the inevitable:

“I just want to say I think – you’re really impressive. An impressive person, I mean,” she studied her hands. “And – if you ever want to talk...to someone who knows what it’s like...” 

“You...lost a parent?”

“A brother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It was a long time ago. But that’s why my mother is...well, that’s why things are difficult at home. I’m sorry,” she blushed. “I invite you for help and then start telling you my problems.”

“No, it’s...I’m happy to listen,” he said genuinely. He was starting to build up a picture of Brienne’s childhood, apparently as unhappy as his own had been. Perhaps that was why he had been drawn to Loras so immediately: Loras was sunlight and laughter: a little spoiled, sure, and still with fits of adolescent moodiness - but he was golden and happy and beautiful, untouched by bitterness and hate. ‘I’ll ruin him’, he thought again, that cold blade in his stomach. But he was in way too deep now, too selfish to let him go.

She smiled. When she smiled, her eyes warmed, and she was – not _pretty_ , but – striking. Attractive, even. Then she picked up her pen again: “Well, anyway, that’s the tuition fees section. Try the college about a maintenance grant, but we’d best fill out that loan request part just in case you get turned down. You can always decline it. How much do you want to request?”

Renly’s eyes widened. “Uh....”

“Well – what’s your stipend now?”

He gave her the figure.

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” Brienne shook her head. “Halve it.”

“...okay.” He had to assume she knew what she was doing here. So he’d have to – be poor. That was okay. He’d been poor before. When he was six, Stannis’ first job after graduation was just scraping the bills, and Robert was off doing whatever he did on the long periods he disappeared from their young life, there had been a few years they’d considered ketchup a sandwich filling. Then Robert returned, mysteriously, with a shiny new job and a foothold in politics. He gave Stannis his old car, and brought Renly a child’s football kit signed by someone apparently famous. Renly cut it up to make a cape, and no-one noticed.

Brienne made a few notes on the form.

“Okay, just sign and date here,” she indicated. He signed, thanked her profusely, and pocketed the completed forms.

“And if there’s _anything_ I can do for you, please, tell me immediately.”

“Are you serious?” Brienne’s eyes widened. “Those articles you recommended basically made my last essay. I’m repaying _you_.”

“Oh, let’s not call it that. Friends shouldn’t have to repay favours.”

Her face visibly lit up when he called her his friend. She stared at him intently. They were sitting side-by-side on the bed, she was posed - waiting –  
.......for him to kiss her. 

Fabulous.

“So, um, I should go,” he said, uncharacteristically flustered.

“Oh,” Brienne deflated. Renly felt like the world’s biggest jerk. He wondered if he should tell her he was gay. Would that make it better or worse? 

“Thanks again!”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

And he practically fled the room.

 

*

So, Renly was poor. His first instinct was to go out and get catastrophically drunk, but Loras cut him off.

“Hey,” Renly scowled and reached after the tumbler that Loras was sliding out of his reach and down the bar. “That’s mine.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” said Loras caustically.

Renly glared at him: “Aren’t you supposed to be the young and wild one in this relationship?”

“In which case,” said Loras, and drank the shot in one gulp. He made a disgusted face. “Gross. Renly, that’s - how can you drink this stuff?”

“Practice,” said Renly. “Unlike some people, I cannot achieve intoxication via two beers.”

Loras stared at him with such concern Renly immediately regretted it. “Renly,” said Loras seriously. ”Are you an alcoholic?”

“Oh for – no, Loras, I am not an alcoholic.” Renly rolled his eyes.

“You just get horribly drunk as a coping mechanism from time to time.” Loras pursed his lips. For an instant Renly thought he caught a glimpse of the fabled grandmother.

“Are ....you gonna be judging me about that?”

Loras sat primly on the bar stool and folded his arms. “I don’t like it.” 

Renly glanced around. He was sort of pissed at Loras for treating him like a child, but the bar was crowded, and there were several people he knew there as well as a couple he recognised from the rugby team. the last thing he wanted was a scene, so he said: “Fine. Let’s get out of here then. I have an early class anyway.” He gestured for the bill. But:

“Wait,” Loras said, placing his hand on Renly’s as he madeto open his wallet. “Let me get this.”

“I’m not destitute yet, you know,” Renly said with a quirked eyebrow.

“No but-....” in a rare display, Loras looked uncomfortable. “Well. You paid when we went to Fez,” he said with sudden inspiration. Renly considered that a night at the cheap-and-cheerful Cambridge institution hardly price-wise to the Glenfiddich aged he’d just been putting down. Then he considered that in the morning he would have to look at his bank balance.

“Come on,” said Loras a little desperately. “Just – let me.”

Oh God, this hurt.

“Okay fine - _this once_ ,” Renly relented. He considered that it might be time to say goodbye to the finer whiskies.

It got worse over the next few weeks. the money he had left in his accont vanished incredibly quickly - it seemed everything cost, things he’d never even noticed. It was impossible to get to through the day without more cash disappearing, and he had to _think_ about money as well as work, and he had to stop himself from just buying things he wanted. It made Loras awkward, and Renly found himself apologizing late at night, his face buried in Loras’ chest and Loras fingers in his hair, whether or not they’d been making love – _making love?_ what was he, a teenage girl? – and Loras telling him not to apologize.

“It must be so hard,” he said sadly. “I still don’t understand how family could do such a thing. You say you were never close, but....you grew up together.”

“Sometimes,” Renly said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Renly sat up on one elbow. “The age thing, for once. Robert was already a teenager when I was born. For as long as I can remember, he’s had his own life. He wasn’t home much. Stannis was more – conscientious, I suppose. But that was it – conscientiousness. He did his duty.”

“Was Robert your legal guardian?” Loras shifted under him, rearranging his weight.

“When he got to eighteen. Before that it was my dad’s uncle – we don’t have a lot of relatives. He was a kind old man, and did his best by us. I’m sure I was a little nightmare.”

“Probably,” Loras agreed, then hesitantly: “you said.... _was_ a kind old man?”

“Yeah, he died.”

“Oh my God, Renly.....” and then, to his relief, Loras started to laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s, it just gets worse and worse. Next you’ll be telling me your only friend was a faithful old dog, and they made you give it up to a kennel.” Pause. “It wasn’t, was it?”

“No faithful old dog,” Renly couldn’t help but grin, though it was brief. “Hey,” he pushed himself up on his elbow and moved up the bed so their faces were near each other. “Let’s not talk about it. Tell me about the match against UCL. Just a few days to go, right?”

“Yes!” Loras looked like he might protest when Renly wanted to change the subject, but if there was anything that he couldn’t resist talking about, it was rugby. He pretty much wriggled with excitement. “I can’t lie, they’re looking good. Or they were, but luckily their best defender broke his ankle on a ski trip last week.”

“Luckily?” Renly raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very nice.”

“If you’re dumb enough to go skiing a week before a college game, you can take the ridicule,” said Loras calmly.

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, we’ve got this new play coach is really excited about. We’ll nail it tomorrow. It all hinges on their weakness in interception between the forwards and-"  
Renly let him talk. He loved to watch his enthusiasm, even if he understood only a word in every three.

“- be there right?” Loras finished, looking down on him anxiously. “I know your dissertation’s due before Christmas, but it’s only a couple hours and you’re such a genius it’s not like you exactly have to worry.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Renly said honestly, and shut Loras up with a soft kiss on the lips. ‘I am hopelessly lost for this boy’, he thought, as he realized it was true.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter this weeeek. I'm at a frustrating time career-wise where I feel like I'm working my ass off and getting nowhere. So: fuck reality, have some more fic. Also, Chesterton is an A and E/walk in clinic 5 mins from Emmanuel. The porter sent me there once when my thumb got crazily infected somehow. It was weird. Also gross.

“Nervous?”

Loras looked up frowning at the unfamiliar voice. he was (very) early to the field, and the coach hadn’t called for attention yet, so players were milling around, warming up, friends and family wandering around the sidelines and opportunist food and drink venders setting up their wares. Loras was just on his way to get changed for warm up when stranger interrupted.

“No,” he answered, frowning. The man was in his early twenties, and extremely handsome: tall, blonde and blue-eyed, with aristocratic features and an air of easy confidence. Loras disliked him immediately. “Why should I be?”

“UCL are a great team,” said the man lightly. “I would know, I used to play for them.”

“And you are?” said Loras.

“Jaime Lannister.” He offered his hand. “I believe we have some mutual acquaintances, Mr.Tyrell.”

Loras schooled his features. He wouldn’t give the asshole the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled him. So he had to shake hands, and resist the urge to wipe his hand on his jeans afterwards. For all the vague and potential dangers Lannister represented, all Loras could think was, _’I just touched a man who does his twin sister’_. He felt like he needed a shower now.

“You are Renly Baratheon’s.... _boyfriend_ , correct?” 

“What’s it to you?”

“I think you know.” Lannister was still smiling.

“Well, Renly broke up with your sister.” Loras folded his arms. “So? You of all people should know they weren’t exactly a love match.”

“Me of all people.”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry – Mr. Tyrell – I don’t know what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything. You approached _me_. Say what you came to say, Lannister.” Loras maintained his glare. In truth, he was slightly anxious. There was something extremely unsettling about Lannister, who stepped marginally closer so that Loras had to tilt his chin up to look him in the eye.

“Fine. You’re a direct man. Your boyfriend embarrassed my sister publically. My sister is very upset. When Cersei is upset, my life becomes extremely difficult.”

“That whipped, huh?” Loras smirked, and for a split second Lannister lost his composure. His eyes flashed and his mouth tightened, but he mastered himself:

“Cersei’s an influential woman,” he said mildly.

“Okay, so you’re in the doghouse at home. I care why?”

“I understand,” said Lannister. “You want to play professionally.”

“And you know someone who knows someone who can help me out. Whatever. I don’t need your handouts.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. But I’m not offering,” Lannister’s teeth gleamed-. “I’m wondering,” he said quietly, leaning in, “How easy it would be for a boy with your...tendencies....to succeed in pro rugby. If such a thing were widely known.”

Loras froze.

“How well do you think your teammates would take it? If they knew they were sharing their changing rooms....showering....with a _faggot_?” Lannister dropped all pretence then. He spat the last word. “Don’t kid yourself Tyrell. You’re not as special as you think you are. Cambridge can spout its PC cover crap all day long – you think your teammates will stick by you when they know you’re eyeing their dicks and ass? Sneaking a quick grope into a tackle?” He laughed. “Welcome to the real world. Tell your _boyfriend_ it’s over. Tell him to make Cersei a public apology and bring something expensive. Or, you can kiss your rugby career goodbye. Your choice,” he shrugged.

“Wait – wait,” Loras was flustered. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m presenting you with your options. You have three days.”

Loras stared at him. Several retorts jostled in his mind, from _’Fuck you! Tell whoever you want, see if I care’_ to _’Oh my God, you can’t DO that!’_.  
Mostly he was overwhelmed by the sheer arrogance of the man – but then he considered his family. The Lannisters as a unit believed that the world revolved around them – and so far that belief seemed to be serving them well in life.

“Jaime?” Loras turned in relief at the familiar voice. Renly was frowning and stepped up beside Loras in a united show. Loras hadn’t expected him to turn up so early, and wasn’t even bothered that he had Brienne in tow. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t turn out to support my old team?” Jaime turned his attention to Renly. Then his eyes fell on Brienne. She did look particularly awkward today, in an orange sweatshirt that did nothing for her complexion, and a pair of faded jeans that only emphasised her chunky legs. Jaime made a token attempt to conceal his amusement, but his eyes glinted wickedly, and something like a tiny chuckle escaped him. To his own surprise, Loras felt a tiny flash of protectiveness as Brienne turned bright red.

“And this is?” Jaime all but snorted.

“This is Brienne, a friend of mine,” Renly said coolly. 

“Wow.” Jaime shook his head, and looked Brienne up and down pointedly. He didn’t bother to introduce himself. “Well. I never took you for a model of good taste, Baratheon, but really...”

Renly narrowed his eyes. Loras could tell by the set of his jaw he was really angry. “You’re a real piece of work, Jaime, you know that? I take it you’re here to cause trouble, but you can leave my friends out of it. Loras, Brienne – I’m sorry about this. Jaime, if you’re really here to watch the match, why don’t you go sit in the UCL stands. Unless you’re afraid they’ll ask you about graduation.”

A hit. Jaime glared.

“I’ll be in touch,” he promised Loras. “Think about what I said.”

“What did he say?” Renly demanded as Lannister retreated.

“Oh, what you’d expect,” Loras evaded. “How we’d be sorry for messing with the Lannisters and blah blah blah.”

“Nothing else?” Renly searched his face.

“Nothing else.” It was the first outright lie he’d ever told Renly, and it made something twist in the pit of his stomach. He justified it that he couldn’t exactly tell the whole truth with Brienne standing right there.

“Ugh, that’s so typical. They’re trying to mess with your head before a big game.” Renly shook his head. “Just – don’t let them get to you.”

“I won’t,” Loras lied again.

“You too Brienne.” The tall girl was still staring after Lannister, who had taken a place in the stands and was chatting to some UCL supporters. “Jaime Lannister is the very definition of asshole. Not so bright either. He failed college,” he grinned his own wicked grin. 

“Oh,” said Brienne.

“Okay I guess I’ll go get changed,” Loras hitched up his kit bag on his shoulder. “Thanks for coming guys.”

“Of course,” Renly gave him a private look, and Loras melted a little. He pushed down the urge to grab him and kiss him right there in the open, and settled for a look that he hoped said ‘ _later_ ’. Judging by the quirk of his mouth, Renly got the point.

Loras did not play his best game. To be frank, it was his worst performance since coming to Cambridge. He could feel Lannister’s eyes on him, knowing and mocking, and the fact he should be unnerved by some idiot who didn’t even _graduate_ was another layer of aggravation on top of it. How dare he. How dare he exert such – such _power_ over Loras when he wasn’t even –

“TYRELL!”

Ball. He had the ball, which he’d caught on reflex, and his teammates were expecting a signature sprint to score, but he was too late this time, and the goddam _replacement_ fullback had him. He hit dirt painfully, sending a shock up his side, and had barely time to think ‘fuck, that is gonna hurt tomorrow’ before the ball was back in UCL possession, zipping back down the field in the wrong direction. One of his teammates groaned audibly. Loras raised a hand in apology as he pushed himself up from the ground (though if he’d known who the groaner was, he’d probably have given him a surreptitious middle finger). In the end, it didn’t matter much: the final score was Cambridge 39 to UCL 30, but Loras was still furious with himself. He practically slammed his locker shut and shrugged off his teammates’ celebratory mood, and by that night his left side had blossomed into stark purple bruising.

“That looks like it hurts,” said Renly a little timidly as Loras inspected himself in their bathroom, scowling.

“It does fucking hurt,” Loras snapped.

“Do we need to take you to Chesterton?”

“No,” Loras rolled his eyes. “It’s a bruise. I know what a bruise feels like.”

“Jesus, sorry for asking. I guess I’m not ‘up’ on sports injuries, maybe I should spend more time getting myself beaten up over a ball.”

Loras glared at him via the mirror. “If it’s so stupid why do you come?”

“For _you_ , of course!”

“So you think rugby’s stupid.”

“Are we fighting? Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

Renly looked so hurt that Loras immediately felt bad. “Sorry baby,” he said absently, turned around and kissed the pout from his boyfriend’s mouth. “I’m just being a dick because I’m mad at myself. And I do appreciate that you came, even though you hate sport.”

“I don’t hate it.” Renly smiled. “Maybe I don’t.... _get_ it, exactly, but I appreciate that it makes you happy. I like seeing you happy. I don’t like seeing you get hurt though.” He very lightly ran his fingers over the bruise.

“I’ve had worse,” Loras told him. Suddenly Renly giggled:

“Did you just call me ‘baby’?”

“What?” Loras teased him, resolving to shove all Lannisters from his mind for now. “Nobody’s ever called you baby before? You are drop-dead gorgeous.” Renly blushed a little bit. For all he dissembled well enough, Loras was quite aware that his boyfriend wasn’t immune to flattery. Pursuing his advantage, he caught Renly’s hand, which was still stroking his side, and redirected it downwards to where he wanted it. Renly frowned:

“I don’t want to do anything that’s gonna hurt you.”

Loras put on his most serious face: “It will hurt me very much if you refuse to fuck me now.”

Renly laughed. When he laughed, genuinely, Jaime and threats and financial worries were easy to shove aside. 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Loras raised his eyebrows, letting Renly draw his own conclusions from the state of his body.

“Point taken. How do you want to do this?”

“Me on top,” Loras decided. that would avoid putting pressure on his side. He took Renly’s hand and led him into the bedroom, but let Renly do most of the work of undressing them. “Now get on my bed,” Loras instructed, “and show me you’re ready for me.”

“Bossy,” but Renly obliged, and Loras drank in the view eagerly, loving how Renly bit his lip and his eyes fluttered close as he began to prepare himself. Loras teased himself, dying to just jump in but wanting to savour the anticipation this time:

“You are – _ridiculously_ hot,” he breathed. “Like you don’t even know.”

“Come here and prove it then,” Renly demanded, so Loras climbed on and straddled him, resting some of his weight on his shins and the rest on his boyfriend’s body. He caught Renly’s chin, and turned his face. His dark eyes opened, and Loras was overwhelmed for a second by the trust and openness there. Experimentally, he took Renly’s wrists in his hands, oddly touched by the sensation of small bones beneath soft skin. He pressed his boyfriends’ hands above his head and pinned his wrists with one of his own. Renly didn’t resist, and didn’t look away from his eyes.

“Keep them there,” Loras whispered. “No touching allowed.”

Renly nodded silently. In truth, Loras couldn’t have restrained him with one hand, and needed the other to prepare himself, but Renly did a pretty good job obeying his instructions, though he did have to move and pin his hands under a pillow at one point.

“I’ll tie you up next time,” said Loras smugly when he’d finished, and was resting happily on top of Renly. There was a pause. “Only if you want,” he clarified. Loras looked down with a little frown to push the hair from Renly’s eyes. “I mean....we don’t have to or....you can tie me up? Okay?”  
Renly smiled softly and shook his head. “No it’s fine. I was just thinking....you’re the only person I would actually let do that. Ever.”  
Loras lay back down and smiled into Renly’s neck.

“How are your ribs?”

“Don’t even hurt now.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Okay, a little bit. It’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Okay Mr. Macho rugby star.” Then: “NO!” as Loras started to tickle him. It was an extremely useful secret weapon: “NO! NOOO! OH MY GOD STOP IT YOU ASSHOLE!”

“Shh-shhh!,” Loras giggled, relenting. “Someone will call the police!”

“They should,” Renly glared and clutched a pillow to him protectively. “Boyfriend abuse.”

“I’m so glad I’m not ticklish,” Loras sighed and stretched out. 

“I will find your weakness.”

“Impossible. I have no weaknesses.”

Renly fell asleep soon after. Usually, after a game, Loras would be the first asleep, but right now there was too much on his mind. Should he tell Renly about Lannister’s ultimatum? Part of him thought yes – they were supposed to be sharing their problems, but Renly had enough worries. Besides, Jaime wouldn’t out _him_ : he was still hoping to salvage the image of Renly and Cersei’s relationship. _‘Okay, so – he outs me, and no-one cares. That could happen, right? Or – he outs me, and the guys on the team are weird about it’._ So what? It wasn’t like he was critically dependent on any of their friendship. But – what if they were more than weird? What if they ostracised him, or stopped passing him the ball, excluding him from plays and fucking with him until he couldn’t play anymore?

Then he wouldn’t play anymore.

The answer came like a bolt from the blue as he watched Renly sleeping, as horrifying as it was clear. It shouldn’t happen. The very possibility made him so angry he could scream. He didn’t know who he’d _be_ without rugby. But if he had to choose, well, the choice was made. It had happened somehow while he wasn’t looking: another person had become the most important thing in his life, and he was willing to give up anything else so long as he had Renly.  


His last thought before he fell asleep was how shocked Grandmother would be if she could know that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bedder = Cambridge slang for cleaner.

Renly woke to a regrettably empty bed, the mattress not even warm anymore. A small part of his mind was occupied with an essay on the efficacy of nationalized housing systems, a topic he truly, passionately cared about...but seemed to be sidelined at just this moment as he considered Loras. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the weirdness of caring about one individual person more than he cared about Britain. He would have thought once there was something immoral about that, or at least absurd. But ever since Loras had entered his life, his opinions had been forcefully changed on a lot of things. His boyfriend was sitting on their window ledge, fully dressed and pensive. He was looking out at the courtyard, but turning his phone around loosely in his hands. The troubled look didn’t suit him at all.

“What’s up?” Renly asked, propping himself up on one elbow and pulling the blankets in tight to trap the remaining heat. Loras jumped – he’d really been distracted, then turned to give Renly a brief, absent smile before saying:

“I think we should come out.”

Renly blinked. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“O-kay....” he said slowly, sitting up properly: “Any particular reason you’re thinking this now?”

“I just...” Loras shrugged. “You’ve broken up with Cersei, your brothers have already done their worst, so it’s not like there’s gonna be a better time. I don’t want our relationship to be like...some dirty secret.”

Renly nodded slowly. There was a certain sense in that, but: “What about you?” He asked. “I thought you wanted to keep it quiet because – wait, let me get up,” he shook his head. “Let’s not have this conversation before I’m even properly awake.”

“’Kay,” Loras smiled sadly. Renly frowned, got up, and kissed his cheek on the way to the showers. North Court didn’t have en-suites, but they were only sharing a bathroom with one other bedroom, so it was pretty good bet it would be empty at this hour on a Sunday morning. _‘We should shag in here,’_ Renly thought as he washed his hair, but then had a vision of the grandmotherly bedder walking in on the two of them accidentally. Loras literally hadn’t moved when he got back to their room, so he put the kettle on silently, made them coffee, then took Loras’ hand and guided him over to sit at the small table.

“So,” he said after taking a sip. “You want to come out.”

“Yeah.”

“Aaand...you’re not worried about the impact on your rugby career anymore.”

“Well,” Loras shifted. “I am. But I mean – we’ve got to come out sooner or later, so....”

“So that’s the only reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lie, Loras, you’re terrible at it.”

Loras made a face. He put his coffee mug down with a thud and said,

“Well okay, Jaime Lannister’s gonna out me anyway. If I don’t break up with you. Which I won’t, obviously, I can’t, I mean, not that I’d want to. And tell you to take   
Cersei back. Which I mean, Jesus, does he think I’m a magician or something, she probably wouldn’t accept an apology even if you wanted to. Not that you do. But if he’s gonna tell everyone, I don’t think we should give him the satisfaction. I was thinking about it.”

“Wait, wait,” Renly held up his hand. “Are you saying Jaime tried to _blackmail_ you?”

“I – pretty much.”

Renly stared at him. “God damn it, Loras, I knew there was something you weren’t telling me. Why didn’t you say this last night?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to think about it.”

“So basically you lied to me.”

“Oh come off it. Cos you’re so forthcoming in this relationship. In case you haven’t noticed, Renly, I still don’t even know that much about you. Every time I ask   
you something important you avoid the question.”

“You know me,” Renly frowned. This was going downhill rapidly. “I tell you what matters.”

“How many people have you slept with?”

“What! What does that have to do with anything?”

“See! See! You’re doing it again!” Loras was getting more worked up by the minute. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “You never tell me _anything_ , but I keep _one thing_ from you for _one night_ , because maybe I _didn’t want to upset you_ , and it’s all ‘you lied to me’.”

“Uhhh, I think being blackmailed by Lannister and you wanting to _come out_ is _kind of a big deal_ Loras-"

“I ONLY THOUGHT OF THAT THIS MORNING!”

“Okay.” Renly blew his breath out. He was supposed to be the mature one here. Loras was standing with his fists clenched, fair skin flushed with outrage. Renly placed both hands flat on the table and considered. “You know what? We’re letting them get to us. This is exactly what they want. We can’t do this, okay? We can’t let them drive a wedge between us.”

Loras softened. As quick as he was to anger, he was just as quick to forget it. “You’re right,” he said. “And I should have told you.” He sat down again, dragging his chair closer so their thighs pressed together, and covered Renly’s hands with his own. Gestures like this surprised Renly – he came from a house where no-one touched, each existing in a bubble of personal space. Before Loras, the only physical expression he’d had any experience in was sex. Possibly there had been a time when things had been different – he had the vaguest recollection of trying to crawl into someone’s lap, still small enough that it was something of a climb, only to be shoved off with ‘you’re too old for that’. He couldn’t remember if it was Robert or Stannis. 

“So,” Loras said after a long moment. “What do you think?”

“About coming out?”

“Yeah.”

“I....have to think about it.” On the surface, there was no particular reason to refuse. His easy path into government was ashes, so if he was going to make his own way in the world, it might as well be on his own terms. He hadn’t always been a model of discretion when he’d first come up to Cambridge, and it was better to come out now than have someone blow his cover in five years with a blurry photo of him making out with some guy at a party. On the other hand...it was so – personal. He’d never gone ‘public’ with anything personal before. And it shouldn’t be _necessary_ , Jesus. Straight people didn’t have to ‘come out’, they were allowed to live their lives and pursue relationships without having to undergo some kind of trial by fire and be granted public approval.

“I understand,” said Loras. “But – um - can you think about it in less than two days?”

“Jaime gave you a timeframe?”

“Pretty much.”

“That – Jesus Christ. He...he has some balls, I’ll give him that. More than I thought. You know what?” And if anything, that had decided him. One day, when he held some position of socio-cultural importance, some faceless interviewer would ask, ‘so, you came out in college, what prompted that?’ and he’ have to say, ‘Well, [name], to be honest, I wasn’t about to be out-bravadoed by Jaime fucking Lannister’. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” Loras’ eyes widened. “Okay like yes?”

“Like yes,” said Renly firmly. “Fuck it. It’s not like we’re committing a crime. Unless you’re secretly fifteen and some kind of freakish genius.”

Loras laughed, which was the intended effect. Renly was thankful to be with person who appreciated his occasionally sick sense of humour. 

“I am absolutely a legal adult,” Loras promised him. 

“In that case,” said Renly. “How are we going to do this?”

“Do – what? Come out?”

“Yeah. Like shall we have a party? Or hey, I could do a topic at the debate club –“

Loras cringed. “Can we not?”

“Well what do you want to do?”

“Just – I don’t know? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just – I guess – act like a couple. In public, I mean. We can tell our friends – and Jaime’s big coup is supposed to be telling the rugby team, so – we should kiss in front of them. Drop me off at practice or something. And like, we’ll kiss, and then all be all, ‘yeah, we’re together’ and they can just...deal with it. I had to watch Tom Stone basically doing his girlfriend right there in the changing rooms, they can cope with seeing us kiss.”

Renly paused. It wasn’t really his style to just go from hiding something to – not hiding it. Fair or night, being out _was_ a cultural issue, and it _was_ topical, and he couldn’t help but feel it deserved an announcement. A statement. But if Loras needed to keep it low key, he could to low key. He supposed being a gay rugby player was probably statement enough. He wanted to say he admired Loras’ bravery, but

“I love you,” came out. They both froze. That – wasn’t what he had meant to say. In that moment, Renly realized this was possibly the first time in his life he’d said those words and meant them, and certainly the first time as an adult. It just – came out. To someone he’d know less than three months. And he giggled at his own mental pun.

“I love you too!” Loras exclaimed, seemingly overjoyed. He threw himself on Renly and started kissing him. “I love you, Renly. I know we’re young, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I think I’ve been in love with you since I met you.”

_'That’s impossible_ ’, Renly wanted to say, but Loras’ mouth on his spared them both his literalism. 

 

*

In the event, it was neither a dramatic horror nor a round of cheers and acceptance. A couple of the guys shot them grossed-out looks as they kissed in the doorway to changing room, and Stone said,

“Save it for after practice.”

Loras flipped him off. There were a couple of comments, and he noticed that two of the guys turned away when they showered. But nobody froze him out of a play: he was too good for that. Besides, coach would have murdered them.

It should have felt like a victory. Instead, it felt – anticlimactic.

Renly had Lannister’s number through Cersei, so Loras used his phone to text ‘don’t bother fucker – they all know’. Perhaps he was hoping for some kind of satisfaction. Instead Lannister just replied, ‘Good luck in the big leagues. Fag’. Loras typed out a detailed stream of abuse including a description of the malformed children Cersei and Jaime would some day create, but Renly stole the phone back off him before his could send it, claiming it would just make things worse.

“How can they be allowed to behave to like this?” Loras yelled.

“They’re the Lannisters,” Renly shrugged as he deleted Loras’ diatribe.

Loras was not one for PDAs, but from then on, they would hold hands in public or share a quick kiss when they parted for lectures or classes. Sansa Stark, Sam Tarly, and the others Loras would vaguely consider his ‘circle’ asked:

“So, you’re with Renly? Yeah I thought so,” or some variation, and Brienne sought him out with her face carefully controlled, in order to give a noble speech about   
Renly’s many virtues, and how Loras was lucky but she knew he was a good person and would be worthy of...etcetera. Loras endured it in supreme awkwardness, until her eyes started getting a tiny bit watery and he had to blurt out that he was late for something and made a hasty retreat.

“Oh God, can we set Brienne up with someone?” he groaned later that night:

“Like who?” Renly said.

“Like...I have no idea. Make her get over you.”

“I wish I could.”

“Who are all these calls from?” 

“Leave my phone alone.”

“Who though? You’ve blocked them.”

“Some journalist,” Renly sighed. “To be generous with a job description.”

Loras frowned and sat up on the bed. Renly was sitting at the desk buried in work. “Some tabloid hack is bugging you? About Cersei?”

“Not exactly.”

“About _me_ ,” Loras realized. “Someone’s been spying on us!” He suddenly remembered what Margaery had said: _‘Yes, Renly does get papped. Pick up  
a magazine sometime’._

“They’re not spying. They’ve just – noticed. It’s their job, such as it is. It’s nothing new, just ignore it.” 

“That is...weird as fuck.” Loras said. 

The next day it got weirder.

“Loras Tyrell?” 

He looked up automatically at his name. He was heading out of the English subject library, attempting to fit a hardback edition of _Piers the Ploughman_ with critical notations into a small bag. 

“Yeah?” 

A blonde woman in a pink coat approached him. She was too old to be a student, and didn’t exactly look like a lecturer. 

“I’m Jenny Littman, a reporter for the _Daily People_. Do you have time to get a cup of coffee?”

“Uhhh, no,” said Loras.

“Is it true you’re currently in a relationship with Renly Baratheon?”

“Yes,” said Loras without thinking, then: “Wait. Why?”

“How exciting!” Jenny Littman beamed at him like they were old friends. “So I suppose you’re the reason he broke up with Cersei Lannister?”

“That’s not – I don’t want to answer your questions!” What the hell was happening? He started to walk but she started to follow him: “Are you running a story about   
us?”

“You can understand that people take an interest in the PM’s family. They do have a right to know.”

“Not about our personal life! Renly doesn’t want anything to do with Robert, they-“ Oh God, he shouldn’t have said that. The reporters’ eyes lit up: 

“Is that an exclusive quotation?”

“It’s not a quotation! Don’t quote me!” He turned around, and marched back into the library. She couldn’t follow him without an ID card to open the barriers. He sat down, unusually shaken. He’d always wanted public attention – as a famous _rugby star_. A thousand times he’s imagined the soundbites he’d give to sports reporters, the camera panning him admiringly as fans cheered in the background. This was _not_ what he meant by public attention. _‘Fucking Lannister_ ’, he thought. He would bet his last penny that the twins had something to do with this. How else would the hack have known where to find him? And he _really_ shouldn’t have said that about the PM. He was just unpractised at this. There was only one thing to do, he supposed. He headed for the mobile reception area, called Renly, and opened with:

“Baby? We....might have another problem.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good god, it's accidentally becoming an epic. Anyway, because Cambridge is weird, 'matriculation' actually refers to signing the book to enter the college when you first get there, not to graduating. I know, I know.

_BARATHEON BROTHERS AT WAR, declared the headline gleefully:_

_Renly Baratheon wants ‘nothing to do’ with PM, says his NEW GAY LOVER._

“I told her she couldn’t quote me,” said Loras miserably.

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Renly. He sounded blank, which meant he was either incredibly upset or deep in thought. “If you state something in public you can legally be quoted.”

“And – fuck – The _Daily Mail?!_ How the hell did a national paper get hold of this?”

“They copied it from the _Daily People_. See, it’s even credited. That’s how journalism works nowadays. They call it churnalism.”

“I’m so sorry.” Loras let his head fall onto their desk, wondering if he could knock some intelligence into himself.

“You know what, it’s fine.” Renly said abruptly. He turned away from the window where he’d been watching the ducks. “It’s kind of my fault. I should have prepared you better for this, and in any case...I don’t want anything to do with Robert. I mean, his party. It was gonna come out sooner or a later, when I go into politics, that I’m standing apart from him. I’ll just clarify that you meant to say I want nothing to do with his _policies_.”

Loras had seven or eight questions: _'When you go into politics? you mean, standing against Robert? Wait, so you’re really not mad at me?'_ But in that instant his phone rang, and the caller display read _Home_.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

 _“_ Well, Loras, I must say, I don’t know whether to be mildly impressed or thoroughly disappointed in you.”

“GRANDMOTHER?” She had never once called his mobile before.

“Don’t you think that your involvement with the Prime Minister’s family is something you should have informed me of immediately?”

“Well, we only just decided to go public,” Loras said. “I mean not public - that journalist snuck up on me! - I mean decided to stop hiding it, not that we were hiding it exactly we just-“

“Who are you talking to?” Renly asked frowning.

“My grandmother,” said Loras.

“Is that your young man? Put him on,” Olenna demanded.

“I – he – she wants to talk to you,” Loras apologetically held out the phone to Renly. Renly looked alarmed.

“Hello?” he said tentatively. “Yes it is.”

Loras tried his hardest to overhear what Olenna said to him as Renly ignored his attempts to mime ‘put it on speaker’: he caught ‘Baratheon’, ‘Tyrell’ and ‘this government’ and ‘reputations’, but generally had to be content with watching Renly’s expression change from fear to confusion to distinct interest, if not with a little healthy wariness.

“Why didn’t you tell me your grandmother was Olenna Tyrell?” Renly exclaimed when they hung up at last.

“Uh,” said Loras. “Why....would you want to know?”

“She’s a very influential woman, Loras! Probably the most important female entrepreneur in the UK! And an outspoken critic of my brother’s government....” he mused. Then he shook his head, and laughed a little: “Fucking Cambridge.”

“Well, if you’d come to Highgarden with me I wanted at half term you’d all know each other already,” said Loras hotly. He did not like the feeling of being talked over, like a little kid obstructing the business of grown-ups. “I suppose now you know how my family’s all influential, you won’t be able to get there fast enough.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Loras forgave him immediately. “Just – don’t leave me out,okay? I know I’m not as smart as you or as - vocational, or whatever, but when you save the country I want to help, not just stand there and look good.”

Renly grinned. A genuinely happy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the first Loras had seen for a couple of days. It still felt like the sun coming out.“You are smart,” he said automatically. Then: “do you think....” almost shyly, “ Do you really think that I could do that? Not save the UK,” he rolled his eyes. “But oppose Robert. Make a difference. Offer people another option...”

Loras’ heart filled up. “I really, really do,” he said. He took Renly’s hands in both of his and kissed him almost chastely. “You have the mind and the heart and the connections and pretty soon you’ll have a first from Cambridge-“

“I won’t get a first-“

“Shut up I’m making a speech. And you have me,” he kissed him again.

“The missing piece,” said Renly quietly. “Before I met you – I would never have dreamed it. I thought I’d just finish up, go straight into Robert’s government, and chip away quietly from the inside at his most damaging policies. Now I’m talking about opposing him.”

“You are opposing him,” Loras corrected. Then: “The _Daily Mail_ says so.”

They both burst out laughing. “I never thought I’d say it, but today I guess we can salute that piece of toilet paper.”

“So you’re not angry? About me blowing it with the journalist?”

“It wouldn’t be how I’d choose to make an announcement, but I don’t blame you. You weren’t ready, and they can be vultures. Just – we’re gonna have to prepare you better for next time. You can’t ignore the press – we need them as much as they need us. But you’re gonna have to learn to manage them.”

Because there would be a next time, Loras realized. And a time after that. Coming out with Renly wasn’t just a matter of ‘yeah, so, this is my boyfriend’. It was a public statement whether he wanted it to be or not. As though in confirmation, Renly’s phone rang with the first of a string of press enquiries, and didn’t stop ringing that day. A series of emails from everything from the Daily Star to the Telegraph were requesting a press conference.

“It might be best,” Renly said apologetically. “The genie is out of the bottle. I’ll give them 30 minutes. Just to literally say: yes, it’s over with Cersei, I’m gay, I couldn’t keep living a lie, what an amazing discovery. I won’t say anything about you.”

“Do – you want me to come? I mean I probably shouldn’t go on TV or anything till I talk to my Grandmother...”

“Not your parents?”

Loras laughed: “Not so much. The hierarchy in my family goes Grandmother, then my sister, then either me or Willas depending on who Grandmother likes better that day, and my dad last. My mum and my other brother tend to opt out of the power struggle.”

“That sounds...complicated,” Renly raised his eyebrows.

“You’ll get used to it. But anyway, I could come when you do a press conference. Just to be there. And watch.”

Renly looked sceptical. “It would further expose you. Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll be all over you.”

“But how else am I supposed to learn?”

“I suppose,” Renly sighed. “Just – stay close, and tell me if it gets too much, okay?”

“I can handle it,” Loras said. Renly charmed the admin into booking upper hall at short notice, a long airy wooden chamber above the used for everything from play rehearsals to entrance exams to student spillover when the maindining hall got too crowded. Emmanuel, it seemed, was not above a bit of self-publication, and was generally keen to grant its high-flying students and staff space for press interviews and photoshoots. The head of third year even emailed to ask if they wanted catering.

“Wow,” said Loras flatly when Renly showed him the email. “I didn’t realize colleges could suck up.”

“Ask the Lannisters sometime,” said Renly. “No, seriously, Emmanuel has money, and a politically correct press conference looks damn good for them.”

“I guess,” said Loras.

“Hey,” Renly came over and squeezed his shoulders. “Are you having second thoughts? Don’t come if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, I want to come. It’s just – weird. To think this is all just....part of your life. Your life is weird. Keep doing that.” Renly continued to work at the muscles of his neck and shoulders from behind. Practice had been rough today, and knots that he didn’t know were there loosed and relaxed under Renly’s strong slender fingers. “Wow. Oh my God. Hey, if politics doesn’t work out, you could get a career doing this.”

Renly chuckled. “Can you really see me as a masseu – don’t answer that.”

“An erotic masseuse!” exclaimed Loras gleefully. “Yes! With special benefits for me.” He turned around and grabbed Renly around the waist, kissing his sternum. Then he laid the side of his face against him. Renly leaned into him and played with his hair. True to Loras’ promise, it was already long enough to pull and spring again.

Loras sighed. “If nothing else, I’m glad we’re not hiding any more.”

“Me too,” said Renly quietly.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.”

“Sometimes...”

“What?”

“Sometimes it seems like part of you is sad. In a way I can’t fix. I don’t like it.”

Renly was quiet for a long time. Then he said: “You are fixing me. More than you know. Loras, you don’t know this – maybe I didn’t know it myself – but I was a mess before I met you.”

Loras looked up in complete surprise, dislodging Renly’s fingers. “How can you say that?! I was the mess. You were the most together person I’d ever met in my life!”

“Maybe it seemed that way. Maybe I pretended I was, even to myself.” Renly shrugged. “But it wasn’t real. You,” he cupped Loras’ face, “are real. This is.”  
Loras felt a silly smile break out on his face. He moved to stand up and wrapped his arms around Renly, giving him a proper kiss. He wondered if deep down he had suspected - for all his admiration of and physical attraction to Renly when they’d first met, there was something about his boyfriend that had brought out a protective streak in Loras. The only other person who produced that effect was his sister – and to be honest, she didn’t need it.

“So...we should go to bed.”

“Yes please.”

“No I mean literally to bed. To sleep. We’re going to want to be rested for this.”

“Oh alright,” Loras sighed. “Quickie first? Or I won’t sleep.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

“I really, really do.”

Afterwards, filled with endorphins and irrationally content with life, Loras said,

“Everything will work out.”

“You always say that,” there was a smile in Renly’s voice.

“And I’m always right.”

Pause.

“You have been so far.”

“And I always will be.”

“Go to sleep, Loras.”

“I am asleep.”

“Shhh...”

The next day was cold, dull and wintery, with even a hint of snow in the air. It was that biting Cambridge cold that seemed to emanate from the very stones, and Loras tried not to take it as any kind of omen.

“How do I look?” Renly had picked out a pair of black trousers and a tailored grey shirt with the fainted hint of silver in thread.

“Sexy as fuck,” Loras declared.

“I was going for adult, but thank you. One button or two?” Renly experimented with opening the collar so Loras knew what he was talking about. He kept half an eye on the mirror, checking his hair from all angles. Loras narrowed his eyes:

“You and my sister are going to be like two peas in a pod. Two vain, vain little peas.”

“You’re not wearing jeans. Wear the grey trousers. And the blue shirt, it brings out your eyes. Where’s your winter coat?”

“....winter....coat?”

“We still have to get to upper hall. You can’t wear that awful sports thing with dress shoes.”

“OH MY GOD, YOU ARE AN ACTUAL WOMAN. RENLY I THOUGHT I WAS GAY STOP CONFUSING ME.”

But he submitted.

“Something’s different,” said Loras as they emerged from the tunnel hand in hand to cross front court for upper hall.

“The ducks are gone. Most of them.”

“Hey, that’s right!”

“It’s really Winter.”

“Nearly Christmas.”

“Cambridge is beautiful at Christmas, you’ll love it.”

“So is Highgarden.”

“Yes, Loras, I already said I would come.” Renly gave him a small smile to show he wasn’t annoyed. There was no point in talking about the conference – Loras would just have to watch and learn. They headed up the steps to find some of the staff already setting out tables with white cloths and water in glass jugs, and the college master, whom Loras had met only once at matriculation, waiting to shake Renly’s hand and chat to him. Renly addressed him as ‘Tom’. To Loras’ distinct surprise, he was remembered:

“I know your grandmother,” said the master. Naturally.

Sharply at 9, the press were allowed in. Loras hung back, but smiled nervously for a couple of shots with Renly’s arm around his waist. He was suddenly glad Renly made him put grown-up clothes on.

“Mr. Baratheon, why have you withdrawn your support for the PM?” - first question.

“Are you fighting?” “How would you characterize your relationship to the Chancellor?”

Renly held up one hand, looking elegant and composed. “Firstly,” he addressed the crowd. “I would like to go on record that I have no feud or ‘war’ of any sort with either of my brothers. Our personal relationship as a family remains exactly the same as it always has been.” Loras saw what he did there. “However, I no longer support certain key aspects of the governmental policy, and as such, will not be entering the ruling party upon finishing my studies.”

There was a buzz and a few cameras flashed.

“Which policies specifically?”

“Specifically, I believe the budget is allowing too many loopholes for corporate tax avoidance, the effects of which are penalizing the worst off.”

“What does your brother think of that opinion?”

“We generally don’t discuss politics over breakfast.” That got a few laughs, and Renly smiled graciously. Loras had to hand it to him – he could really manage the room. Then came the other questions:

“Why have you concealed your sexuality until now?”

“Have you always known you were gay?

“Was your relationship with Cersei Lannister a political cover?”

“Let me make it clear,” said Renly carefully. “That my personal life is not up for discussion. Yes, I am gay, and given that, it would have been unfair to all concerned for me to continue a relationship with Ms. Lannister. I am happily in a committed relationship with Mr. Tyrell, and we kindly request that the press respect our privacy.”

“Does the Tyrell family back your separation from the government?”

“No comment.”

“Is the government’s hesitation on gay marriage a factor in your separation from them?”  
“Yes, one factor.”

“What are the other factors?”

Renly turned the talk back to politics, and every time someone tried to steer it to Loras, he refused comment. This circled for a while, until Renly politely but firmly announced he had no more time, and the college master thanked everyone for coming. Loras was sure there were a few more cheeky photos as the press filed out, subtly herded by the Head Porter, a tall man in a black suit with the air of an intimidating undertaker.

“Okay?” asked Renly when they were finally alone.

“I think,” said Loras. “That was weird. You were great though,” he assured Renly.

“Practice,” said Renly dryly.

“So does that mean they’ll leave us alone now?”

“No. Not until the next scandal in parliament anyway. Also...”

“What?”

“I - have to go to London on the weekend. I’m going to have to see Robert.”

“I’ll come with.”

“N – no. Just – not yet, okay?”

Loras frowned. “I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I won’t be alone. They’ll send a car.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know. Just – let me do this, okay? You’re distracted enough from your work already. What about Christmas exams? Yours are next week.”

Loras made a face. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be. First year doesn’t even count, you just have to pass.”

“You don’t mean that. I know you – you want to do well.”

Loras hesitated. In truth, he should spend the last weekend before exams holed up in the library, and he’d be mad with himself if he didn’t do as well as he could. Plus, Renly had been great today. He’d made it look easy. He supposed he didn’t need him to hold his hand.

“Alright,” he sighed at last.

“Good.”

“Call me like every hour.”

“I don’t think that the library staff would be too happy about that.”

“Every two hours.”

“Don’t you have a lecture now?”

“Shit!” Loras yelped and looked at his watch. “Okay, practice tonight – I’ll be back before seven, okay?”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

“Thank you my wife.” Loras gave him a kiss and asked, “Take my laundry over?”

“Don’t push it.”

Loras grinned and left for his last lecture in the Middle English module.


	8. Chapter 8

Renly checked his phone as the car entered London.

 

_F_ _rom: Loras_

_I hate Piers the Ploughman with the fury of a thousand fiery suns. There’s not even a compulsory question on it. I can’t believe I read the whole thing. I want that week of my life back.  
_

_Sent at: 10:01 08/12/12_

 

Renly replied without looking up _.  
_

 

_Maybe there will be a question where you can talk about how crap it is.  
_

_Sent at: 10:01 08/12/12_

_From: Loras  
_

__600 PAGES THO__.

_Sent at: 10:02 08/12/12_

 

He smiled, and the driver caught his eye in the rearview mirror. Renly didn’t know the man and his expression was unreadable. He sighed, shifting on the leather seat and considered replying. After a moment though he put his phone away. His dependency problem was bad enough already.  


Severe chrome office buildings gave way to the converted Victorians and Edwardians of central London, hotels interspersed with chic restaurants and galleries. Big Ben and the London Eye loomed over the Thames, and dense crowds of tourists jostled for space with commuters and business types. He’d forgotten how intense the city was, how crowded and anonymous. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder how, without his family, he could possibly afford to rent even a single room in the City next year.

Robert had called him after the press conference: they were livetweeting, obviously, and his and Loras’ pictures were immediately uploaded to the web.

“Now what are you playing at?” Robert asked flatly.

“I’m not playing. I’ve decided to enter parliament on my own terms.”

“As what?”

“An independent candidate. Last time I checked that wasn’t illegal. It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to gather enough support, with a name like mine, and in opposition to you, don’t you think?” He was playing with fire, but Robert was pissing him off now. All the Baratheons had a temper. Renly’s was the deepest buried, most carefully concealed, but it was there.

Robert drew a breath. When he needed, he could still master himself. He spoke next in his most-reasonable tone, the one he used to persuade and assure,

“Renly. This is getting ridiculous. Come on, what do you want?”

_‘You to take me seriously_ ’, Renly thought: _‘Your respect’_. It was stupid but still true. Why he should still crave it, having seen over the past few years what Robert really was, he didn’t know. He’d long since given up on love and didn’t even care if Robert liked him anymore, but the lingering need of the youngest sibling to be treated as an equal remained.

“I don’t want anything from you,” was what he said.

“Come to London,” Robert demanded just as he’d predicted. Robert’s greatest successes were in personal persuasion – man-to-man, as he called it. The inherent sexism of that slogan hadn’t gone unnoticed during his campaign years, but the working-class core of his voting block tended to like it.

He and Loras had made the political pages of several serious papers over the next few days.

“We look good,” had been Loras’ verdict. The rags had done their best to spin Renly’s mild, impersonal comments into some kind of gay porn scandal. They made as much as possible of the fact that Loras was only 18, but considering that Renly was not yet 21, there wasn’t a huge amount they could do with it.

Christ, was he only 20?

The car pulled up outside Number 10 in a reserved space. The press were waiting.

“Mr. Baratheon, is this a reconciliation with your brothers?”

“As I’ve stated, there is nothing to reconcile.”

“Politics or personal visit?”

“No comment.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

A couple of laughs. Renly offered the tabloid reporter a dismissive smile. “Shockingly, upon entering a relationship, I did not become surgically attached to my partner.” ‘Just psychologically dependent’. He ducked his head to evade the cameras and the staff opened the door for him.

The first time he’d been inside Number 10, he had only been 12, but for some reason the ornate sweeping halls, the stern portraits of luminaries past, the dark flowered carpets and chandeliers and gold-and-brass lighting had never intimated him. On the contrary, it was Robert who had always seemed out of place here. Today moreso than ever: as Renly was shown directly into his brother’s office, Robert was slouched red-faced and unkempt behind his massive oak desk, snapping something to his secretary over the intercom. He looked up – and Renly started a little. Robert looked – bad. He’d gained more weight, and there were dark bags under his eyes. As though the nine-o-clock inebriation hadn’t been evidence enough, his high colour and the tremor in his hands showed that his drinking was once again out of control. Renly searched himself for pity, and found none.

Robert looked up him and down.

“You look good,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Renly.

“Have a seat. Drink?”

“I don’t drink in the mornings.”

“I meant coffee, you sanctimonious –“ Robert’s voice rose, but he stopped himself. “Look. Renly. I didn’t ask you here to get into a fight with you. In fact I want to apologise.”

Renly waited, eyebrows raised. This in itself wasn’t terribly shocking – Robert could apologise, when it served his purposes. It was the reason people forgave him his temper.

“What I said about...I shouldn’t have said that. What you do in your bedroom is your business. I’m not saying I like it, but...”

“How positively magnanimous of you.”

“Don’t start,” Robert said sharply. “You and Stannis, I swear, worse than a nagging wife. Anyway – my point is – don’t throw away your future over this. I can still get you a post. What do you want, minister of culture? People like you like that sort of thing.”

“Why Robert,” Renly said with a tiny bit of a thrill: “Could it be that you’re actually threatened by me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Robert snapped. “It looks bad, is all. You’ve seen them – family divided and all that crap.” He gestured expansively to the newspaper rack. “I’ll hand it to you, Renly, you know how to handle the vultures. They aren’t even blaming you for the Cersei thing.”

“But Tywin is blaming you,” Renly translated. “And taking it out of your re-election campaign. Which isn’t going particularly well, to judge by the pollsters.”

“Don’t push me, Renly,” Robert warned. Renly watched him mildly. He was surprised to find how detached he felt – he almost couldn’t remember why he’d so wanted Robert’s approval. Once, Robert had been a giant, and ‘don’t push me’ would have frightened Renly into silence. His mythical brother, made greater by the rarity with which Renly actually saw him....the best hope for a new country. Now...now all Renly saw was an ageing drunk, slowly crumbling under the strains of office. “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why. I’ve told you I don’t believe in your party anymore. You’re selling out to your wealthy investors, allowing them to slide by with massive tax evasion, pouring money into wars we have no place in and on the other side you’re claiming to pay off the country’s debt by cutting the services people depend on. Seen the latest figures on NHS waiting times? Or the food bank use statistics?”

“Jesus Christ, no wonder the press loves you,” Robert sneered and pushed himself up with his hands. “You’re a bloody soundbite machine. Who the fuck are you parroting, one of your Left-wing academic heroes?”

“There was a time,” Renly reminded him, “when they called you Left and you were proud of it.”

Robert shook his head: “You have no idea how this game works. None. You fancy yourself sitting there?” He gestured violently to the chair he had just vacated. Renly blinked. “You wouldn’t last a week.”

There was a long pause. Robert came around and leaned against the front of his desk. The desk creaked. He looked sideways out of the window.

“I know what you think of me,” Robert said heavily.

Renly said nothing.

“You always were a dreamer.”

Still nothing.

“Don’t think I...don’t think I don’t care anymore. About this country. If it wasn’t for Tywin, and the bank, Targaryen would still be in power.”

He didn’t mean to say it. But the question had been in the back of his mind for too long, taking shape, pushing itself forwards:

“And how are you better?”

Robert hit him.

It was so fast, he only realized once it was over, and his hand was going reflexively to the side of his face. The delayed shock of pain spread from his cheekbone down to his jaw, and he tasted blood.

Robert looked stunned.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Robert said,

“Renly –“

“I suppose that answers my question,” said Renly. Talking hurt. His voice sounded strange, distant and muffled to his own ears.

“I –....” Robert said.

“For your own sake, you’d better have a way out of here that I can evade the cameras.”

“I do,” Robert said. “There’s a private exit. Look – I can make you a policy advisor. Stannis will have to live with it.”

“No,” said Renly.

“Well good fucking luck,” Robert spat finally. “I hope the Tyrells give you whatever the fuck it is you want.”

“Good luck, Robert,” Renly returned. “Try not to assault anyone in public, okay?”

“Get the fuck out.”

Renly nodded. He spared a last glance for his brother, hunched, ungainly, gaze already flickering towards the liquor cabinet.

 

*

 

“I’ll kill him,” said Loras. “I will literally kill him.”

Renly rolled his eyes: “Can you not do the whole predictable caveman thing?” But it was weak. He was shaken – obviously – anyone would be. When he’d walked in, Loras had looked up, felt his eyes go wide, and first horror and then rage coursed through him.

“What,” he’d taken Renly’s face in his hands and carefully turned his head sideways. “The fuck.” In truth the injury was nothing terrible – his boyfriend had a reddened bruise coming up over one cheekbone and jaw, and a small split in his lip that had already scabbed over. What made him see red was the clear imprint of a ring in the bruise, a mark of deliberate violence.

“So it’s probably a good thing you didn’t come,” Renly said. “Getting arrested for assaulting the Prime Minister wouldn’t look great on your student record.”

“It would be worth it! He should be arrested!” Loras yelled.

“Yeah, well.”

“Has he ever...I mean is this the first....”

“That was the first time he’s done that,” Renly sat down. Loras grabbed one of the ice packs he in their mini-fridge for post-rugby requirements, and pressed it carefully to his face, despite the fact it was kind of late to be of much use. He looped his other arm around Renly’s waist so that he was pretty much hugging him, but Renly remained stiff and physically unresponsive. “He and Stannis went at it a few times.”

“What like – they fought each other?”

“Oh yeah. Stannis wasn’t always a saint.” – Bitterly.

There was a long pause. Loras removed the melting icepack and very lightly ran his fingers over the bruise, frowning.

“Does it hurt much?”

“By my standards or yours?”

Loras grinned. He was glad Renly could still joke, even if it was a defense mechanism. He carefully kissed him, back near his ear.

“What did people say? I mean, the people at Downing Street? Wasn’t there like an uproar?”

“No-one really saw. It’ll be on the security tapes, but no doubt Robert’s people will dispose of that discreetly. A lot of people are propping him up.”

“But after.”

“Well – the driver did a double-take, but he didn’t say anything. I suppose he values his job.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s politics.”

Pause.

“He’s changed, Loras,” Renly said. “Robert has. I mean, I knew he’d changed, but, I didn’t know the extent of it. He’s – I think he’s a lost cause.”

Loras squeezed him. He was uncomfortable, sitting on his knees, but he didn’t want to interrupt this.

“He asked me if I saw myself in his chair,” Renly said quietly. “He thinks I want to be PM.”

‘And you should be,’ Loras thought. “And – what do you think?”

“I think....one thing at a time. Let’s give people time to adjust to ‘I’m gay’ before...well, the first thing is, I need to stand as an MP for well – Cambridge, I guess. I  
do live here.”

“Then what happens?”

“Then – well, the PM is the head of the ruling party. So, in theory, one would either have to join a party or start one. I don’t want to join any of the major parties.”

“So you'll start one.”

“Well – not just me. One person doesn’t found a party. First you get into government and you meet people with similar ideals and well – it goes from there.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re starting young.” Loras grinned at him. “It’s gonna take a while for your new party to get people’s attention.”

Renly shook his head. Not in a dismissive way, more in an ‘I can’t believe you’re for real’ sort of way:

“Did anyone ever tell you you have a real ambitious streak?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re not ambitious enough?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, I am. I’m telling you right now.” He moved around so he could straddle his boyfriend with one knee resting on either side of his thighs, and gently knocked their foreheads together. “The Lannister’s couldn’t stop us. Why should anyone else?”

“When you put it like that,” Renly smiled a little.

“Besides,” Loras whispered as he moved in for a proper kiss. “We have Grandmother on our side.”

“Oh God – Loras - please don’t talk about your Grandmother when you’re doing - that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I make them have sex a lot. But then again, they're 18 and 20 and hot for each other. Ah, memories *g*.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was time for a lighter interlude. I've been a bit down lately about my future career/insecurities/the difficult academic job market/etc, so I thought I'd make things happy for the boys for a change. Enjoy :)

“Are you nervous?” Loras looked sideways at Renly, teasing a little.

“Um, _yes_. Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. Tyrell, I’m the older guy who’s fucking your precious youngest son, whom you’ve all turned up to see perform at the biggest rugby match on the calendar due to your familial adoration. Hope you don’t mind housing and feeding me over Christmas, I’ll try not to scream your son’s name when he’s blowing me like a porn star.”

“Shhh,” Loras giggled and glanced around at the other occupants of the train platform. “And don’t be stupid. I told you they know I’m gay and they don’t care.”

“I would feel exactly the same if you were a girl.”

“I hope not.”

Renly rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Plus I still look like I’ve been in a bar fight,” he gestured to his face.

“Oh you don’t. It’s barely noticeable now. And if anyone asks I’ll say you were defending my honour.” Loras placed a feather-light kiss on the fading bruise. It still made him seethe with rage every time he saw it, but he'd accepted that him storming into Number 10 and offering to fight Robert Baratheon was probably not in anyone's best interest. He leaned forward to scan the tracks – the platform monitor just read ‘due’ but there was no sign of the train. It would be a busy day. After getting his family settled at the University Arms, he had to change and get to the practice field by noon. Kickoff was 2 o'clock, and afterwards he’d be obliged to at least have one drink with his soon-to-be-victorious teammates. Coach had told them to plan to win – advice Loras could have dispensed himself. Then he was taking his parents and boyfriend to Browns for dinner. He was perfectly confident that his parents would love Renly. Who wouldn’t? He’d specifically asked Margaery on the phone not to let dad start talking politics. 

“It’s all just- complicated right now,” he’d appealed. “And I just want them to meet my boyfriend. Not like – Renly in political mode. I’m not saying pretend you’ve never heard of him, that would just be weird, but don’t let dad make a thing of it.”

“I’ll handle dad,” Margaery had assured him. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you, darling! It might even be worth sitting through seven hours of rugby!

“It’s not sev- never mind. I can’t wait to see you either!”

“Train,” Renly pointed out, nodding to indicate its appearance on the horizon. One of his leather-gloved hands was in Loras’, the other in his pocket. It was not quite so bitterly cold as the previous week, but Loras had noticed that his boyfriend felt the cold a lot more than he did – probably because Loras rarely stopped moving. 

“Yes!” Loras jumped up and down a bit, barely letting the train come to a stop before he was hurrying forward. Margy disembarked first – lovely, stylish and smiling as always – and literally threw herself into his arms. 

“LORAS!”

He picked her up and squeezed her. “Hi.”

“You look good,” she assessed when he put her down: “Wedded bliss clearly suits you.”

“Wedded-?” he spluttered, but she’s already moved on.

“And this must be Renly,” – as if she didn’t know from her tabloid habit.

“Miss Tyrell,” he smiled and took her hand, something less businesslike than a shake but not informal. 

“Margaery. And these are my parents.”

Really, Loras decided he should just let the two of them handle it. Mum did her obligatory fussing and messing with Loras’ hair, before kissing Renly on the cheek and saying she was delighted to meet him, and Dad shook his hand refrained from mentioning elections. Renly looked slightly overwhelmed.

“Okay?” Loras whispered, squeezing his hand as he led everyone out of the station and back onto the street.

“I just literally can’t believe they’re so - fine with this,” Renly whispered back. 

“It’s 2012, baby. Most people are.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t be cynical.”

Dad restrained himself till they’d checked into the hotel, a porter was taking the luggage upstairs and everyone had gone on to the lounge for coffee. He cleared his throat and put his cup down. 

“I must say, Renly, we were, er, quite - er _surprised_ by the press conference coverage last week.”

 _“Dad,”_ Loras and Margaery objected simultaneously.

“But impressed,” Dad said hastily. “You handled it very professionally.”

“Thank you sir,” said Renly, at the same time as Loras said

“Well he _does_ know how to manage the press, he’s being doing it for years,” and Mum said,

“Oh yes, I would think so dear. _You_ might have given us a bit more warning,” she addressed Loras.

“Oh that’s my fault ma’am,” said Renly hastily. “I’m afraid I put too much pressure on Loras to keep our relationship quiet in the beginning.”

“That’s _perfectly_ understandable, boys,” Margaery put her own cup down with a clink. Loras caught Renly covering a smile. If he’d ever shown the  
slightest attraction towards women, Loras would be feeling very conflicted right now.

“But you can understand our concern,” Dad said.

“For both of you,” Mum said hastily. “It’s just that Loras is very young, and this all seems to involve him in a rather major political news story.”

“I understand completely,” Renly nodded seriously. “And I whilst I can’t promise zero exposure, I want to assure you I’ll do everything I can to keep Loras away from the media.”

“I am _sitting_ here,” Loras pointed out crossly. Renly squeezed his thigh under the table.

“Our family has a lot of press ties,” Margaery put in.

“I had heard,” Renly smiled. “I have a great deal of respect for your mother, sir,” – he addressed Dad, and of course that won points all around. Loras took that opportunity to move the conversation away from sensitive ground, and onto the Varsity match, on which Dad was happy enough to give his expert opinions. Mace Tyrell had played for Trinity’s reserve squad many years ago, never close to making the Cambridge Blues (though that was all University politics, as he assured them) and still considered himself an authority on the subject:

“It’s just a shame your brother couldn’t get the time off.”

“Dad, no offense, but I think Willas is over rugby.” Margaery said dryly. “He’s normal.”

“And – you two have a third brother?” Renly asked politely.

“Garlan works in Italy for the business,” Loras explained. “Contracts and stuff. Plus his wife’s Italian.”

“They’re expecting our first grandchild in the new year,” Mum beamed.

“That’s wonderful!” Renly exclaimed. “Congratulations. Loras, you didn’t tell me you were going to be an uncle.”

“She’s been pregnant for like, fifteen minutes,” Loras rolled his eyes. “It’s kind of an abstract concept at this point.”

“Two months three weeks and four days,” said Margaery: “Mum has a calendar.”

That kept them all occupied for a bit, and then it was time for Loras to leave and get ready for the match, and though he’d briefly considered leaving Renly alone with his family for a total-immersion crash course, he ultimately wasn’t _that_ cruel. Besides Renly really did have to return some library books, and Margaery wanted to go around the little craft shops, so they all promised to meet up later at the field half an hour before kickoff.

“Wow,” Renly said in the lobby and blew his breath out. “That was definitely more nerve-wracking than a press debate.”

“You were fine,” Loras dismissed. “That was the easy part. Wait till you meet Grandma.”

“They’re really nice, Loras,” Renly smiled with sudden shyness. “I’m really glad they – ah, they’re really nice.”

Loras grinned happily and gave him a quick hug. He felt very lucky and very content, but didn’t quite have the words to express it.

“Now go get ready,” Renly squeezed him quickly then let go. “I don’t want you sulking later because I supposedly ‘made you late’.”

“I’ll look for you in the stands. Sit by Margaery.”

“I intend to.”

“Hey!”

“As a parental buffer!” Renly laughed. “Go!”

Loras went. He turned his mind to the match – this was, after all, the very reason he had applied to Cambridge, yet he felt oddly detached from the intensity of it all as the coach drilled them on the finer points of technique. Half of his mind was still on how Renly would do sitting with his parents, and a small piece even seemed reserved for the exam he’d sat yesterday. Of course, on meeting the Oxford squad, he looked them up and down with his usual competitiveness – tight formations, good ball control, but was the center forward favouring his right leg very slightly? This would also be the point at which he’d usually be assessing levels of hotness, but ever since he’d been with Renly, dare he say it, even that had become a less fascinating occupation. Everyone met up as promised – even Margaery was getting into the spirit, and had acquired a Light Blues scarf which she tucked neatly into the collar of her coat. She had taken charge of Renly as Loras hoped she would, and marched him off arm and arm to sit next to her, with his parents on her other side. 

Cambridge started well, keeping the pressure on with practiced co-ordination by the forwards and managed to score the first try within ten minutes of kickoff. The home crowd roared, and Loras shot a quick grin at his personal cheering squad. Dad was half out of his seat, which was kind of embarrassing, but Loras couldn’t help smile indulgently. Unfortunately, the guy covering him was _good_ , and effectively prevented any heroics on Loras part until well into the first half. Then the referee called a penalty for a scrum infringement by Cambridge’s Tom Stone. 

“No way!” shouted Fossoway, and a couple of the other players joined the objection, but the ref was shaking his head with his whistle in his mouth and offered Fossoway a ten-minute suspension if he wanted to take it further. Oxford made the penalty, putting them in a slight lead. 

But now Loras had the measure of his defender. At the perfect moment, Fossoway had the ball and Loras got free at the crucial second and yes, he was going to do it, his signature dash for the try line in the Varsity match, this was it – once – his entire life had been leading up to this moment – 

\- he literally didn’t feel the defenders fall on him, because FUCK IT, he was past the line, the ball was in the ground, the referee called try and the crowd went wild.

Then his teammates were pulling him up for a hug – well, Stone and a couple of his homophobe friends didn’t join in the hug, but most shot him grudging nod of acknowledgement. Coach was nodding in satisfaction, arms folded across his chest, and from then on it was Cambridge’s game. The only thing that held the day back from perfection was the fact that Stone scored the final try – great that it was Cambridge and all, but a shame that asshole had to be the toast of the afternoon.

“YAY!” Margaery almost hugged Loras then stopped herself: “Shower first.”

Dad was sniffling a bit, and Renly said quietly

“I’m proud of you,” leaning in, but not quite close enough to get coated in mud and sweat.

“Loras what _do_ you look like,” said Mum despairingly. “I _really_ don’t know why couldn’t have taken up tennis.”

He left Dad spluttering about family traditions as went for the showers, laughing, and escaped the team drinks in minimal time, citing family obligations. The only sour note came when Stone stopped him on his way out, frankly drunk, to sneer about Loras being too precious to stay and drink with the men. Loras was sure there was a witticism he could formulate in reply, about Stone’s homophobic attitude all being a cover for his fondness for ‘the men’, but he was too happy to bother. He changed in the toilets, yanking the creases out of the dress shirt and trousers he’d been keeping in his bag all day. What Mum didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Browns was an old Cambridge establishment, all white tables and silverware and big airy windows. Frankly, the food was average, and the prices unjustified, but it was always busy because of its reputation. All nonsense, really – the kind of Cambridge pretension that pissed Loras off – but if he hadn’t taken his parents there at least once he would never have heard the end of it. Margaery looked very pleased, in an elegant green dress with a winter shawl, perched on her chair looking around at everything, and Renly looked drop-dead gorgeous in a charcoal grey blazer set off with silver cufflinks. Dad was more than happy to dominate the conversation by reliving the highlights of the match with Loras and the aid of silver culterly, as Mum told him off periodically and Renly and Margaery giggled quietly. They looked, Loras realized sharply, like a beautiful young couple out to dinner with _their_ family, and he and shifted closer to Renly possessively. Margaery caught his eye and grinned, twinkling with amusement.

“All in all, I would say that went excellently,” Loras declared at last. They were undressing in their bedroom, Renly hanging his clothes up carefully (‘to maintain the crease’) and Loras dumping his on a chair. Renly had broken him of the floor-habit, but he maintained that hangers at the end of a long day were unjustifiable. 

“It was good,” Renly agreed.

“Except I’m still hungry. Seriously, for what you pay at Browns, you’d think they could fill the plate. Next time we’re going to Wetherspoons.”

“There’s some sandwich stuff in the fridge still.”

“I love you.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were in bed. Loras was tired, warm, content, and extremely happy. ‘I told you everything would work out’, he thought, but was too sleepy to say it.

“Your parents are great,” said Renly quietly.

Loras opened his eyes.

“I’m quite fond of them,” he said.

“So....did they like me?”

Loras grinned. A part of him always enjoyed it when Renly’s worldly veneer cracked. “They liked you,” he assured. “Very much. They’re still getting used to the idea of us being together – not because we’re gay,” he cut that one off before Renly could say it again, “but because you’re you. They probably thought I’d end up with a dumb blonde pretty boy I could drag around on a leash. A bit like Margaery’s last one,” he mused.

Quiet. Then:

“End...up with?” Renly asked. Loras reflected on his choice of words. The look in Renly’s eyes told him to be careful. It was at moments like this that he felt entrusted with something beautiful, unexpected, and demanding more from him than he could’ve possibly imagined himself giving. 

“When I think of the future,” he said slowly, “Which I never used to, but since I’ve been with you I’ve sort of well, started – when I think of the future it is only ever of us together. I know we’re young. But that’s – how I see it,” he shrugged, losing his eloquence. Renly’s gaze held his.

“Me too,” he said.

Loras closed the space between their faces and pressed their mouths together, lips parted slightly and just breathing.


	10. Chapter 10

If Renly was going to get a first on any module, it was the dissertation. He always performed best when he had room to expand and discuss his points at length. He was doing an analysis of Scotland’s prospects for devolution, a topic he’d picked late and on something of a whim whilst under the influence of charismatic young professor from Edinburgh. Now he wished he’d done something a little more practical and mainstream. He handed the final draft to his postgrad supervisor the day after the Varsity match, and prepared to leave Cambridge – for Highgarden.

It was extremely strange to be leaving at the start of the holidays. Normally he’d hang around until the last possible moment, reading and going out with the international students or occasional bright young lecturer with nowhere else to go. When the day itself crept up he’d head to London and spend a couple of excruciating days with Stannis and family, listening to Robert rant about the state of the world and trying not to make eye-contact with his sister-in-law. The only person that made it bearable was his three-year-old niece, Shireen, a sweet quiet child with asthma and a prominent winestain birthmark over most of her face. There was a surgery they could do, but Shireen had been so sick as a baby that her anxious mother refused to let her go under the anaesthetic. Shireen would miss him this year, Renly thought guiltily, though he was sending her a book about ponies, her favourite animal. He hoped Stannis wasn’t petty enough to bin it.

Loras was talking happily about his home. He had clearly missed it, and it was sweet to see. He was barely packing anything, just the books he meant to read over the holidays, and Renly was over-packing, mostly clothes.

“You don’t need all that, my sister wants to take you shopping. She’s delighted to have someone she can dress up,” Loras told him.

Renly supressed an eye-roll. It really was hard for Loras to understand what _not having money anymore_ meant. Which reminded him – there was someone he wanted to see before leaving Cambridge. He had no idea what Brienne would want for a Christmas present, so he’d played it safe with a book he knew she’d find useful, and a bunch of seasonal flowers. He’d hesitated over the flowers, but it needed something a bit personal, and was glad he got them when Brienne teared up and hugged him awkwardly. She had a present for him, too – a jar of his favoured expensive coffee, which he’d assumed he would be forfeiting from now on. He was a _tiny_ bit freaked out that she knew that, but mostly grateful.

On the train, Margaery bagged a table quickly, which only seated for and so relegated the parents to the seats behind. It was a good couple of hours to Highgarden, and Margaery spent it quizzing him on his life and habits, tastefully avoiding anything too personal or potentially sad. It was from her he finally ascertained what the Tyrells actually _did_. Essentially, they were landscape contractors, designing, building and maintaining the grounds of everything from businesses to stately homes. 

“Technically, Dad is the CEO,” Margaery said, “But really Grandma still runs it. It was her father who built it all up, you know – he was a gardener.”

“And your mother?” said Renly politely.

“She does mostly charity things. The Rose Foundation – that’s her trust – it’s a non-profit to help disadvantaged kids get into business. Teaches them how to make ideas into a business plan, introduces them to mentors, stuff like that.”

He nodded, quietly impressed.

“Now I just have one more question for you,” Margaery leaned forward. She was very like Loras to look at: sharp blue eyes, curly hair and an irreverent quirk to the mouth. “Mr. Baratheon: you’re attractive, intelligent, well-connected, and clearly on the brink of a successful career in politics. So. What exactly are you doing with my brother?”

“Margy!” Loras exclaimed as Renly laughed.

“Shush dear. I’m looking out for your interests.”

“Ms. Tyrell,” he said, imitating her formal tone. “Whilst admittedly, on the surface, it seems a peculiar decision –“ he grinned at Loras and rubbed his thigh to show he was only teasing, “They do say love is blind for a reason. And it appears that I find myself quite indisputably in love with your brother.”

Margaery visibly melted. Loras’ cross expression turned into a beaming smile, and he leaned over to kiss Renly’s cheek.

“I’m so glad,” she said. “Really.” But when Loras left to get coffee from the bar, she waited until he was out of sight, she turned to Renly and said frankly,

“I like you. I want Loras to keep you, and I think you and I could be excellent friends. But if you hurt my brother, who is absolutely crazy about you, I _will_ find a way to make you suffer for it.”

Renly blinked. It wasn’t that he’d thought for one second she was all sweetness and light, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so – direct about it.

“I have no intention of hurting him,” he assured her.

“I don’t doubt it. But you don’t realize the effect you have on him. I know Loras probably better than anyone in the world, and really – he has never, ever, made anything like this investment in another person. I didn’t even think he was capable of commitment.”

“Not many eighteen year olds are,” Renly pointed out.

Margaery shrugged. “The point is, you’ve changed him. Being with you has changed him. For the better – I think. He-“ She cut herself off, raising her eyes as Loras reappeared in the carriage door. “Did you get sweetener?”

“Of course,” Loras rolled his eyes and produced the tiny packets.

“So Margaery,” Renly redirected: “I understand you want to study fashion?”

 

*

It wasn’t that he’d never seen an estate – in Robert’s campaign years, he had been trotted out at enough influential parties as the poor orphaned littlest brother Robert supposedly raised, freshly scrubbed and with his hair arranged by a stylist – so much that he’d never _known_ anyone who lived on an estate, as more than a formal acquaintance. It was weird to think of Loras growing up here, yet at the same time, Highgarden wasn’t as stuffy of formal or trapped-in-1982 as many of the grand houses he’d visited. Part of it was the grounds – they were beautifully kept, but not rigid or over-stylized. There was space for things to grow, and someone had planned things out so that green things and flowers bloomed even in deep winter. There was also, he noted, a distinct preference for roses.

A chauffer had collected them from the train station for the twenty-minute drive, and the car pulled up in a manicured drive. The chauffer took a couple of the bags, and Renly watched to see if more staff would appear, but none did, so he grabbed his own suitcase before anyone could offer. Just then, the main doors opened, a couple of large brown-and-white dogs came bounding down the steps.

“Sit!” someone called from inside and they pulled up short, receiving pats and ear fondles from Margaery and Loras –

“Oh darling, you’re early!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyrell, and Renly looked around in slight confusion. There was a rather long pause; then a man in his twenties appeared, leaning on a   
cane. Renly was slightly taken aback. He remembered Loras mentioning that a car accident had ended his eldest brother’s rugby prospects, but he’d never made much of it, and the young man standing in front of them was quite clearly hampered by a serious permanent injury. Like Loras, he resembled their mother, but his hair was more light brown than   
blonde and his eyes brown instead of blue. He lacked the healthy energy of his younger siblings, and moved carefully, his free hand going to the rail to steady himself. 

“They let me out at lunch,” said the man who could only be Willas, receiving hugs from Margaery and Loras who ran up to meet him. They were more careful, Renly noted, than they were with each other. It was oddly touching, and alien to him. After greeting his parents, Willas said,

“You must be Renly. Welcome.” Renly shook his hand, and tried hard not to stare at the thin surgical scar just at his hairline that ran down behind one ear. He felt suddenly, oddly shy, and perhaps little embarrassed for assuming the Tyrells had always had everything easy. 

“You look tired, I hope they’re not working you too hard,” Mrs. Tyrell started fussing over her eldest son.

“Shall we go in before we all freeze to death?” Margaery said brightly. The foyer was graced with enormous fully decorated Christmas tree, stacked with presents.

“Cousin, cousin, parent’s friend’s kid,” Loras pointed out, “Not sure who that one is, another cousin...” Aunts and uncles followed, and Loras was hugged and kissed, and quizzed about how he was getting on at Cambridge and on the rugby team.

“Have you seen, the match is on YouTube."

“Good job, that was a great try at the end, wasn’t it? That Stone lad will be playing for England.”

Renly smothered a laugh at Loras chargin. He was cursorily introduced all round, and one of the little cousins demanded,

“Wait – so you KNOW the Prime Minister?”

“Well. he is my brother,” said Renly over the adults’ laughter.

“But he’s old!” said the cousin, horrified. “How old are you?”

“I’ll...be twenty-one in two weeks.”

“How old is he?”

“Alla,” Margaery swooped in and deterred the little girl, “I thought you were coming to see the new horse.”

“YES!” cried the girl, which of course instigated a round of

“And I am!”

“Me too!”

“And me!” from the younger children. 

“Why don’t you show Renly his room, Loras?” Mrs. Tyrell interjected, and Renly shot her a grateful smile. Loras grabbed Renly’s hand and guided him towards the spiral staircase.

“They’re very – energetic,” Renly said. “You have a lot of cousins.”

“They’re not even all here yet. That was mostly dad’s side.”

Renly didn’t know whether to be more nervous or relieved. On one hand, the Tyrells en masse were kind of – overwhelming, but on the other, the more people there were the less everyone would focus on him as the new boyfriend. It seemed the Tyrells took Christmas seriously – silver tinsel spiralled the bannisters, and fairy lights were strung along the upstairs corridors. There were flowers everywhere – red and gold, and deep green holly leaves. It was all perhaps a bit much for Renly’s personal taste, but the colour scheme was limited enough not to appear tacky. Loras showed him to a guest room – light, fresh, and impersonal, but with a wreath and a few sprigs of holly in a Christmas vase on a table. 

“My room’s just across the corridor,” Loras pointed. “But don’t worry, I’ll sneak in here once everyone’s asleep.”

“Should we?” Renly asked a little doubtfully. The Tyrells were all being so kind to him – he felt slightly bad about shagging their son on their own property.

“Of course,” Loras rolled his eyes. “Margy and I have been doing it for years. NOT LIKE THAT!” mortified as his double entendre, he turned bright red, and they both started laughing.

“Oh God. Lannister influence,” Renly giggled.

“Oh God no. Oh Jesus.” Loras shook his head as though to physically clear it. “I think I traumatised myself.”

“But. I would like that,” Renly admitted. “If you’re sure no-one will know.”

“No-one will know,” said Loras, and they kissed. Renly put his bags down and lay back on the fluffy white bed. It was glorious – soft but not too soft, with the fresh washing scent. 

The matress dipped as Loras lay down next to him. It was more than big enough.

“Hey Loras,” Renly said after a moment.

“Hmm.” 

“What happened to your brother? You said there was an accident....”

Loras sighed and propped himself up one elbow. “Four years ago, a drunk driver ran a red light at a junction,” he recited. “He hit Willas’ car on the driver’s side door and crushed it. He almost died. Willas, I mean, not the driver.” He rolled his eyes. It was a defensive gesture, an expression of impatience and anger. “Three years. Can you believe it? The guy got three years in prison. That was all the judge could give, unless the person actually dies. He’s out there, free as....whatever, and Willas gets to be in pain every day of his life. Not to mention what he went through after the accident.”

“What you all went through, I imagine,” Renly said softly. 

“Yes, well. It makes me so fucking angry. And he’s so...I don’t know, calm about it. Like why doesn’t he hate the guy. I hate him. I wish _he’d_ died.”

“Loras...” Hate was one thing, but actively wishing death on another person made him pretty uncomfortable.

“Well I do.”

Pause.

“Anyway, what do you want to do? Dinner’s in like two hours. I can show you around – oh, and I want to go down the stables. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“Once or twice.”

“Want to ride one again?”

“What - _right now_?”

“Why not? We’re on holiday! And tomorrow Margaery will hold you hostage to make me Christmas shopping, so we should seize the opportunity.”

“I suppose we should!” Renly pushed himself up. _‘I really am quite in love with you’._

“Plus, I need to brief you before dinner.”

“ _Brief_ me? Why is that exactly?”

Loras shot him a look: “My Grandmother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Dec 2012, UK legislature created the offence 'causing serious injury by dangerous driving', which I think carries up to 14 years in prison. Before then, howeover, 3 years was honestly about the maximum sentence unless the drunk driver actually killed someone. That's *with* aggravating factors.


	11. Chapter 11

“I thought you said you’d ridden before.”

“I HAVE.”

“What, a donkey at Blackpool beach when you were three?”

“Shut up.” Renly glared balefully, clinging for dear life to the reigns, shoulders hunched and completely rigid as though he expected to be thrown from the saddle at any second. “You gave me this giant horse on purpose.”

“I _gave_ him to you cos he’s the easiest. He’s bomb proof, aren’t you Tiger?” Loras rubbed the gelding’s nose affectionately. The horse snuffled and nosed him for treats.

_“Tiger?”_

“When he was young his dappling kind of looked like tiger stripes.”

Renly eyed him suspiciously. Loras laughed and mounted his own horse, a feisty athletic mare named Heather who immediately started shifting and wanting to canter. He reigned her into a walk and Tiger started to follow her out of habit. He led them through the gardens, past the hedge maze, pointing out the winter roses and the fountains that were now dry for the season. Renly was quiet, but once he realized Tiger was doing all the work and wasn’t about to suddenly throw him off, seemed to relax and admired the features Loras showed him.

“So....” Loras said, untacking Heather and turning her loose to work off some of her energy racing round the paddock. He kept one eye on her, to ensure she didn’t start with nipping and harassing the older horses grazing on the other side, and opened the saddlebags. He had brought two warm blankets, sandwiches and some small cakes that were possibly prepared for some Christmas party but he didn’t see anyone’s name on them, so whatever. It was really too cold for a picnic, but it had seemed like a romantic idea and he wasn’t about to back out now. “Do you like it?”

 _“Like_ it?” Renly was still a little wide-eyed. “Loras it’s – amazing. Beautiful. Bigger than I imagined – grander – but at the same time I can imagine you growing up here. “It’s a _home_ , not like...”

An odd wave of guilt washed over Loras. “Hey,” he said, dropping the blanket to take Renly in his arms. “I brought you here to make you happy. No sad face.” He kissed him, affecting a pout.

“I am!” Renly assured him. “I’m sorry. I’m really happy to be here. I just – I don’t know, Christmas is always a bit weird for me.”

Loras sat them down, rearranging the blankets so they were sitting on one and wrapped in the other, watching the horses. He kept Renly close, with one arm around his waist and the other hand holding the blanket in place. He rarely knew what to say at moments like this, but he’d realized that his boyfriend responded to physical affection, something Loras had never lacked and had no problem giving.

“Do you want to make it up with them?” He asked after a long moment.

Renly thought. “No,” he said. “Not with the people they are now, in any case. I suppose I want the old Robert back. Or maybe he’s always been like this, and I was just too young to see it.” He shrugged. 

“Not the old Stannis?”

“Stannis raised me. I can’t just forget that. If it wasn’t for him I’d have ended up in the foster system. But he can’t accept that I’m gay, which means he can’t accept me. If he ever changes his mind...”

Loras thought of his older brothers, and was flooded with gratitude. Relating Willas’ accident had briefly brought up that old horror of that hot July day – he’d been fourteen and messing around in his friend’s swimming pool, when Margaery had coming flying up the path, sobbing, face red and smeared with tears. The sound was pure grief, and his stomach dropped with the knowledge of something terrible, some nightmarish disaster –

\- Anyway.

“If he ever changes his mind he should he apologize. Fuck that, he should _grovel_.”

Renly chuckled: “I won’t hold my breath.” Pause. Then: “Thank you. Thank you for inviting me. Your home is amazing.”

“I do love it here,” Loras admitted. “I hadn’t realized, but I think I was a little bit homesick.”

“Most Freshers are.”

“Hey,” Loras poked him. “Don’t condescend.” He sighed and laid his head on Renly’s shoulder. “So. About my Grandmother...”

“Yes. Olenna Tyrell. Did you know she was one of Robert’s most outspoken opponents?”

“I was aware. She’s pretty much reconciled to him now.” He bit into a sandwich.

“Maybe I can change that.”

“Er – Renly,” Loras coughed. “Don’t get me wrong, because you know I believe you can do pretty much anything, but getting Grandma to change her mind is not a matter of normal human accomplishment.”

“What should I do then?”

“First, don’t be fooled. She likes to pretend she’s a sweet old lady. It puts her opponents at a disadvantage or something. Answer her questions. Think of her like an interviewer. A really, really, informed interviewer with an agenda. Don’t lie, because she already knows everything about you.”

“How could she possibly?” 

“She’s omniscient,” Loras said seriously. He started unpacking the food and arranged it on the blanket.

Renly laughed.

“No but don’t underestimate what she knows.”

“Then why will she interview me?”

“To get an impression of your character.”

“Well. That’s reassuring.”

“If she asks about why you’re with me, what are you gonna say?”

“Um, that I love you?”

“But why?”

“Because you’re smart and kind and loving and hot – should I say that last one?”

“Eh. She knows.”

Renly laughed. “EW, Loras!”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Loras rolled his eyes, “In the objective appreciation way, she knows I look good.”

“I’m pretty sure everybody does.”

“Anyway, good answer. What about when she asks you what you’re gonna do with your life?”

“I suppose I’ll be honest. Say I want to go into politics but I’m not sure how yet, since I’m publically opposing my brother.”

“Say about how you’ll stand as an MP.”

“Wouldn’t that come over as a bit – presumptuous?”

“It’s presumptuous in the way she likes. Ambitious.”

“Right.”

He instructed Renly for a few minutes more, until his boyfriend complained he was freezing his arse off and why exactly were they sitting on the grass outside in mid-December. 

“The romance of your soul delights me,” Loras said.

Renly stuck his tongue out.

“I could warm you up.”

“Here?” Renly’s eyes widened.

“What? No-one’s around.” He leaned in and started kissing Renly’s neck in the way he knew his boyfriend found irresistible. Renly giggled and leaned back, putting his hands down to support himself. Loras slipped his hands under his coat and shirt and Renly yelped at the cold, but soon changed to appreciative sounds as Loras started to play with his nipples.

“I have a very bad idea,” Loras whispered.

“No,” Renly said. “I don’t think we should.”

“Oh come on. We’re miles from the house. Please?”

Renly wavered. One of his hands sneaked around and trailed over Loras’ arse. Loras wriggled appreciatively, pressing his body against Renly. 

“I need it,” he whispered. He wasn’t exaggerating. Quivers of excitement ran through his stomach, pooling in his belly: “I need you in me.”

“Can’t you wait till tonight?”

“No. I can’t,” he pulled Renly’s shirt collar down to suck a bruise against his throat.

“We don’t have-“

“Yes we do.”

“Ohmygod. You planned this.”

“I like to be prepared.”

Apparently decided, Renly gripped Loras above the hips and pushed him off, then climbed on top of him so their positions were reversed. Loras fumbled for his backpack and handed him the lubricant, undoing his jeans with the other hand, giggling,

“Argh its cold,” at the first touch of gel to skin.

“You shouldn’t have been so demanding then,” Renly whispered, eyes dark and intent, and so much blood rushed to Loras’ dick it was a miracle he didn’t pass out. His boyfriend’s erection was obvious in his smart trousers, and the contrast was too much for Loras, who managed to rip the button off in his hurry to undo them. He massaged Renly’s dick while his boyfriend prepared his entrance, their breaths panting, their hips starting to move of their own accord:

“Ohgod, getinme,” Loras gasped. Renly complied, lowering his mouth to Loras so they were breathing into each other’s mouths in the same instant. They came at almost the same   
moment.

“Ohfuck,” Renly collapsed. Loras caught him with open arms, and held him against his chest as they panted.

“I love you,” Renly whispered.

“I love you too.”

Loras closed his eyes.

“Warm enough now?” he asked smugly after a moment. Renly slapped him tiredly.

“We should – clean up.”

“In a minute,” Loras closed his eyes. 

Pause.

“Do you think we traumatized the horses at all?”

Loras opened one eye. So far as he could tell, none of the paddock residents were paying them the slightest bit of interest. “They’ll live.”

“Good,” Renly snuggled into him.

After a couple more minutes, the cold air really started to bother them, so they cleaned up summarily using napkins, and repositioned their coats to hide any incriminating evidence. When it came to get back on the horse, Loras suddenly the fault in his masterplan. Not that Renly had hurt him, but – not to put too fine a point on the matter – he was pretty sure God never intended a man to get on a horse mere minutes after taking it up the arse. They walked the horses instead, which obviously took a while, so that there was just time to shower and change before they were expected to turn up downstairs. Renly wasted a good thirty minutes trying clothes on, before finally ending up in the outfit he’d started with.

“Think you brought enough?” Loras asked, casting his eye over the piles (and piles) of clothing Renly had managed to pack.

“I hope so,” said Renly, completely missing the irony: “I have to get used to managing with fewer clothes now.”

In the main lounge, Olenna Tyrell sat in state, surrounded by small children and attended by Margaery and one of the older cousins. The rest of the large room was occupied with   
uncles, aunts, friends, and a couple of the cousins squabbling over a Lego set. In the straight-backed upholstered chair she looked tiny, yet managed to command the room with nothing more than her presence.

“Loras!” she exclaimed when they entered. “I see you’ve finally found a moment in your terribly busy day to come and say hello to your old your grandma. Come here,” she extended one wrinkled hand.

“Hello grandma,” said Loras meekly, and went to take her hand and give her a kiss on the cheek. She pinned him with her gaze, looked him up and down:

“You’re clean and tidy at least. I suppose this one must be a good influence,” she nodded shortly at Renly.

“Grandma, this is my boyfriend –“

“Renly Baratheon, I know dear. Hello young man,” she offered Renly her hand, which he took in something between a handshake and a gesture of supplication. “Well Loras, he’s   
certainly handsome enough.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I have a great deal of respect for your-“

 

“Oh dear. A professional politician.” She sighed. Renly looked shocked. Loras blushed. “Now look Renly. As you know, I’m no great supporter of the Baratheon name, and until recently I assumed you were simply an attractive piece of window dressing to your brother’s slow destruction of this country. Lovely smile; not much else to you. Wait,” she held up one hand, forestalling any objection Renly might have had. “I said _until recently_. Your decision to publically distance yourself from your brother’s government impressed me. I have seen you handle the press with an unusual combination of skill and grace, and your visible protection of my grandson is touching. However. I am eighty-three years old and have forgotten more about the business of public affairs than you have had a chance to learn yet, so kindly refrain from any obsequiousness.”

For a moment, Renly was speechless. Loras and Margaery raised eyebrows at each other.

“In that case – ma’am-”

“Olenna.”

“Olenna – I’d just like to thank you for having me. You have a lovely home.”

“It is rather, isn’t it. And you’re very welcome, dear. Now, Margaery, go and ask the staff if they plan to start serving the appetisers this side of the New Year. It does come to   
something when one fears starving to death in one’s own home, doesn’t it?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this week, but really this was the only place to leave it. There isn't much more to go now - the end is planned out.

“This one?” Loras held up a belt disconsolately.

“Italian leather,” said Margaery dryly. “Darling, why exactly would you buy Italian leather for someone who _lives in Italy_?”

“I don’t know,” Loras wailed. “I hate shopping.”

“If you’d done your present shopping in reasonable time, like everybody else, you could have bought things online and saved yourself the trouble.”

“Garlan is hard to buy for.”

“You say that about everyone.”

“Renly....” Loras appealed, “Help. She’s bullying me again.”

Renly laughed and held his hands up. “I’m staying out of this.” 

As promised, the next morning, Margaery had marched them both out bright and early to the upmarket Lindhurst high street. The shops were primarily designer, with open glass windows in front in and no visible prices. Everything was tastefully decorated for the season with white frosting and deep green Christmas trees , sprinklings of silver fairy lights and deep red baubles. He was glad Loras had come along – his boyfriend’s complete lack of preparation for Christmas took the focus away from Renly and the fact he was not buying anything. Garlan Tyrell and his wife Leonette had turned up that morning. He was darker, taller and heavier-set than his siblings, seeming cheerful and good-natured. Leonette was a tiny Italian woman, very pretty in a pixie-ish way, whom most of the women had immediately descended upon to congratulate and assure could _absolutely_ tell. So far as Renly could see, she showed no sign whatever of being pregnant, but maybe women had some secret way of telling these things.

“Can you imagine what she’ll look like at the end though,” Loras had said rather crassly. “The baby’s gonna be as big as she is.”

“Shh,” Renly had giggled, and Margaery scolded them, though he was sure he caught her supressing a smile.

“Why don’t you get something for their kitchen?” Margaery suggested. 

“Like what?”

“Stainless steel utensils, wine glasses, a set of silverware, a bottle rack -”

“It has to be small enough to fit on the plane!”

“You can disassemble them,” Renly pointed out.

“Alright. That thing. Where do we buy one?”

Margaery led them across the street to an exclusive looking homeware place. While Loras was occupied trying to figure out what most of the things in the kitchen department were for, Margaery said quietly to Renly,

“You did well with Grandmother last night. She approves.”

“Really?”

Renly released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. After their initial meeting, Olenna had probed him carefully all night, sounding him out on   
contemporary topics and subtly getting him to reveal a lot more about his relationship with Loras than he’d intended to.

“Oh yes. I haven’t seen her so impressed for a long time.”

“That was impressed? I’d hate to her see her disapproval.”

“You really, really would.”

“Fuck it, I’m getting him this,” Loras declared, holding up some contraption with a picture of fruit on the front. “It’s got that celebrity chef on it.”  
Margaery inspected the gadget and pronounced it passable. Loras went to pay.

“I want to get your parents something,” Renly said impulsively. 

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Margaery said. “They won’t expect it.”

“I know but – to thank them for having me.”

“Alright,” she said. “But nothing extravagant. Otherwise Grandmother will see it as sucking up. Never suck up. She hates that.”

‘At this point, I couldn’t get anything extravagant if I wanted to,’ he thought dryly. The student loan had come through, which meant he would at least be able to pay his college bill and thus not end up homeless (and degreeless) before he was twenty-one, but that was about the extent of his financial security. In many ways, Margaery seemed more worldly than Loras, but it still seemed that she couldn’t quite fathom the prospect of literally not having money. Not ‘having money you didn’t want to spend’, but actually not having it. He got the bottle of wine Margaery told him to buy. Then Margaery wanted to buy clothes.

“I’m out of here,” Loras said.

“Oh please,” Margaery begged. “Two shops. One shop.”

Loras made a theatrical display of it, but as Renly suspected he would from the start, he went along to please her. Renly had to admit that considering its small size, Lyndhurst boasted a nice range of designer and bespoke clothes shops – he stared longingly at the beautiful lines of the new Canali blazers whilst Margaery drooled over a pearlescent collection by Rachel Gilbert.

“They look like wedding dresses,” was Loras’ input. In punishment, she made him try on a series of actual trousers as opposed to jeans, so Renly had something to drool over too. Noting his attention, Loras started to enjoy himself, raising his eyebrows cheekily and turning to show off the best view of his arse. 

“I might even be persuaded to get these,” he commented.

“Persuade?” Offered Renly hopefully. “You can consider them my present.”

“I already have your present,” Loras laughed. “But okay. This once. Not that I’m saying £300 is like, justified or anything-”

“It’s the tailoring,” Renly said, at the same time as Margaery said,

“But the quality of the material-”

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” Loras held up his hands. “Jesus. You two should get married.”

Laden with bags, they collapsed in the back of the car that Margaery had called to pick them up.

“Well, that was – necessary,” Loras sighed. “At least I have all my presents now.”

“Admit it,” Renly him. “You had fun.”

A tiny smile played at the corner of Loras lips. 

“You had fun watching me,” he countered.

Renly blushed. Out they may be, but he wasn’t particularly comfortable with innuendo within the unknown driver’s hearing. He leaned over and whispered in Loras’ ear,

“I always do.”

The next day was Christmas Eve, which passed in a flurry of friends and relations and party games – one of the older cousins played the piano, and one of the little   
ones knocked a glass jug of egg nog onto a carpet. Over dinner, Renly got talking to Mrs. Tyrell about the Rose Foundation, her charity that aimed to help children from disadvantaged backgrounds succeed as entreprenuers. She was interested and easy to talk to, and he found himself revealing more about his own childhood than he meant to. He caught himself halfway through a story that would have ended with the first time Robert blew grocery money in a half-intoxicated gamble. The Tyrells had a way of disarming people. Across the table, he noted Olenna watching him. Sometimes she pretended to be half deaf, but he was totally sure she heard every word, and was filing it away for reference. In an attempt to calm his nerves, he drank more than he meant to. There was a strong brandy going round, and because it was something he wasn’t used to, it affected him more than whiskey or vodka.

“Wow,” he said finally, lying back on his bed. “I think I may actually be too full for sex.” In the general festivity, no-one had noticed Loras slip upstairs with him.

“I told you not to eat the fruitcake!” Loras exclaimed exasperatedly. “Jesus.”

“I couldn’t help it. I’m gonna end up fat like Robert,” Renly complained. He lifted his shirt and attempted to pinch non-existent stomach fat. “Do you think I’m fat?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Loras rolled his eyes. “Completely turns me off. That’s why I try to have sex with you every five minutes."

"Don't mock my neuroses."

"Renly,” Loras sighed. “If I asked you to stop drinking, would you?”

“What like – completely?” Renly sat up.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love _you_ , and when you drink you’re different. I’m not saying you have a problem,” he said quickly. “But you get drunk because you think it’s gonna make you feel better, and it doesn’t. It makes you miserable. I mean – look at you.”

“What do you mean, look at me?” Renly prickled and sat up. Somewhere deep down, in the sensible and sober part of himself, he knew Loras had a point. A good point, even. But he resented being told what to do. Like he hadn’t been looking out for himself since he’d left home, and doing a pretty good job of it, thanks. He didn’t need a nanny.

“Well, earlier you were happy – we had a lovely day – then you got nervous and started drinking – yes, I did notice – and now you’re all melancholy.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Renly snapped. “Maybe I can’t be perfectly bloody cheerful all the time. My life sort of imploded recently, if you hadn’t noticed.”  
A rapid series of expressions crossed Loras’ face: surprise, then hurt, then anger. Silence for a moment, then he just repeated:

“Would you stop drinking if I asked you?”

Pause.

“No,” Renly said. “Not because I couldn’t, but because you have no right to ask me.”

“Uhh, excuse me? Last time I checked, we were in a relationship. If I ask you to stop drinking you should stop.”

“So are you asking?”

“…no.”

“Good.” Renly lay back and sighed. “Because I have to go pick up my stuff from Stannis’ old place in London next week and really, really don’t want to be sober afterwards.”

Loras’ face crumpled a little bit. Renly immediately regretted telling him. He could have at least left it till after Christmas. ‘You knew you’d ruin him,’ said whatever it was inside him that observed these things. ‘You knew you’d just bring darkness and misery into his life, and you did it anyway’.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re a smart person, Loras, figure it out.” Shades of Robert. Bitterness. Well, while he was hurting the person he loved, he may as well go all out. 

“But you have me now! Aren’t I enough? Why do you have to drink when you have me?”

They looked at each other for a long moment. How had things gotten so bad so fast? 

“I don’t know,” said Renly honestly.

Loras bit his lip. Tears pricked visibly at the corners of his eyes. Renly hated himself. He should probably apologise, take it back, say yes, of course you are, I’m an idiot, I don’t need anything else if I have you. What he said was,

“Maybe you should sleep in your own room tonight.”

Loras nodded once, tightly. He turned, visibly gathering his dignity.

“See you in the morning,” he said tightly, with only the faintest of tremors in his voice. Then: “Hey Renly?”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Renly pulled the covers over his head and turned his back to the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Christmas at Highgarden started early. Kitchen staff were baking, or supervising the unpacking of food from various high end restaurants. Small children were running around squeaking frantically, hammering on parents’ doors and jumping on beds, checking for signs of Santa and reindeer. Margaery, Garlan, Leonette and one of the older cousins had redirected the children outside to work off some energy on the frosty drive, and in an effort to avoid Renly, Loras joined them. It just made him feel worse: the happy couple were standing around looking sickeningly in love, giggling with their arms around eachother and watching the children play, hands sneaking every so often to Leonette’s belly and sharing excited looks. There were practically cartoon hearts in their eyes.

“Oh gag me,” Loras said aloud. “Six more months of this.”

“Someone’s in the Christmas spirit.”  
He turned, surprised, to see Willas just outside the doorway, and hurried back up the steps before his brother could attempt to navigate the icy stone. 

“Hi,” he said, slipping an arm around his waist. He bit back, ‘Should you be out here?’ because he knew Willas hated it when people treated him like an invalid, but the truth was his eldest brother wasn’t looking particularly well. He was paler and skinnier than the last time Loras had seen him, and it brought back all the pain and rage that some asshole had been allowed to change all of their lives in that split second four years ago.

“Hi,” Willas returned the half hug, leaning on Loras a little bit. “Where’s your significant other?”

Loras didn’t reply.

“Are you two fighting?”

Loras hung his head. God, this hurt. He resented that Renly could make him feel like this – an actual, physical ache.

“Your first fight,” Willas nodded. “Every couple has one.”

“He was drunk,” said Loras petulantly.

“So was I, a little bit. So was Elinor. We won’t get started on Uncle Martin.”

“But he knows I don’t like it when he drinks, and does it anyway.”

Pause.

“Is that something he’s always done?”

“Pretty much,” Loras sighed. “And then he had a go at me about trying to control him. It’s not like that,” he said quickly, when a look of consternation came over his brother’s face, “I mean he’s not an aggressive drunk or anything. He just gets melancholy, and I get impatient, and we end up....it’s all a mess,” he sighed.

There was a long silence.

“Where’s my brotherly advice?” Loras demanded.

“Well it’s....” Willas sighed. “It’s not really something anyone else can decide for you, Loras. If your partner isn’t willing to change something for your relationship, you have to   
figure out if it’s something you can live with or not. But I’ll be honest here – I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of you being with someone who drinks to escape their problems. He seems like a lovely guy-“ he held up a hand, cutting off Loras’ kneejerk defence before he could get started. “But alcholol changes people. As you’ve just said. And it’s the kind of thing that tends to get worse with time if people aren’t willing to address it.”

Loras looked at the ground. “Willas, I’m in love with him.”

Willas tightened the arm around him momentarily.

“You aren’t going to tell me what to do, are you?” Loras sighed after a moment.

Willas chuckled. “Nope.”

“Let’s go inside,” Loras said resignedly. He was sick of watching the happy children shrieking and running about, and he couldn’t avoid Renly all day. His boyfriend was in lounge talking with Margaery, and from the way both their eyes went directly to him he knew he was the subject of their conversation. Unfairly, Renly looked impeccable as ever, whilst Loras felt dishevelled and tired from a night spent more worrying than sleeping. Renly offered him a tentative smile. Loras opened his mouth to say - something, but in that instant, the doorbell rang, and a brand new influx of relatives bearing gifts descended upon them. Between greeting people and being hugged and kissed and a new round of introductions for the first-time guests, the next thing he knew they were called in for breakfast: champagne and orange juice, salmon canapes, French toast, exotic fruit salad and more. Loras ended up with a lap full of tiny girl – his parents’ friends’ youngest was five and intended to marry him when she grew up, a claim she was keen to make clear to everyone at the table. He’d always found her amusing, and listened to her chatter with relative good humour, but today he wanted to stand up and dump her on someone else, possibly inbetween Garlan and Leonette. 

After breakfast it was time for presents. Mum and Dad were suitably charmed that Renly had thought to get them something, and apparently oblivious to what was happening between them – Grandmother, of course, had her eye on them the whole morning, and was conducting a kind of silent conversation with Margaery.

“If it helps, he’s as miserable as you are,” Margaery said quietly, when she bent down to deposit Loras’ present in his lap: a signed autobiography of Willie John McBride, addressed to him, which must have taken her half the year in organization. Normally he would have been supressing an unmanly scream of glee at the offering, simultaneously hugging Margaery and demanding to know if she’d actually met Willie John McBride and didn’t take him, because if so he might actually have to kill her. Instead he just said, “Thank you,” and put the book aside, not sure if he was thanking her for the present or the message.

His gift to Renly was a set of silver photo frames – he’d gone back and forth with Margaery over whether it was too girly, but the implication, as he’d clarified with her, was that they were about to make new and significant memories together, writing over the past....it made him choke up a little to watch Renly’s face when he opened it, and he raised dark eyes full of guilt to Loras as the room _awwwed_ , and a few of the cousins demanded, “Kiss!”, so they had to (and how sad that he would ever think of kissing Renly as something he ‘had’ to do). 

“Let’s not fight,” he said quietly when the parted (it was nothing, really, a chaste closed-mouthed peck suitable for parental eyes). “Not today. It’s Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Renly.

“I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

For a horrible moment, Loras thought he might actually burst into tears. He swallowed it quickly, masking it with another kiss – slightly _less_ appropriate this time, making Renly blush, but if Garlan and Leonette wouldn’t keep their hands off each other why should they have to?

“Open mine,” Renly demanded, pushing a small wrapped box into Loras’ hands, and there was a surreal instant when he wondered if he was being proposed to. In the box was a watch, beautiful and understated in silver, not the sort of thing he would buy for himself in a million years (his phone told the time, didn’t it?) But he had to admit it looked amazing on him.

“Thank you, I love it,” he said honestly, before Alla burst into tears because her baby brother had just spit goo over her new Christmas dress, so that took the focus away from them. 

All in all, it was his worst Christmas ever.

“Love sucks,” he said melodramatically, having stolen five minutes alone with Margaery in her room after lunch, when everyone was lying around in a food coma.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I can’t really help you on this one, baby.”

“You were quick enough to comfort my boyfriend. Traitor,” he glared at her and flung a pillow half-heartedly in her direction.

“Oh Loras, be reasonable. You’re at home surrounded by people who love you. This is his first time here, and now you two are fighting.”

Loras sighed. “We’re not fighting.”

“Just avoiding each other.”

“Pretty much.”

“Alright,” Margaery stood up and dusted herself off. “Wait here.”

“No, don’t –“

“WAIT.”

She returned moments later, dragging a rather shamefaced Renly by the arm. “You, sit there,” she indicated her desk chair. “And you sit up,” – to Loras, who was sprawled on her bed. “Now I am going downstairs, and you two are going to sit here and talk this out. Don’t make me lock you in.”

There was a long pause.

“I told you she watches a lot of rom coms,” Loras offered at last.

Renly gave him a hint of a smile. “So – are we okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Loras said.

“It doesn’t sound like we’re okay.”

“....”

“I want to apologize again. For being cruel to you.”

“Well, that’s what you’re like when you’re drunk, isn’t it?”

“So - do you really want me to not drink? At all?”

“Yes.”

“You know that’s a weird thing to ask of a college student.”

“Don’t joke. Because you know you don’t just get drunk to have a good time. You abuse alcohol. And I mean, these things are hereditary. Look at...”  
“Look at Robert. Believe me. I do.” Renly shook his head. “Loras, you think I haven’t considered that? You think I’m not afraid that I’m gonna end up like him?”

“So why do you do it?”

Pause.

“It always seems like a good idea at the time.”

Loras sighed. “How about instead of getting wasted, I come with you to London and we pick up your things from Stannis’ house together?”

“Loras, I don’t want to ask that of you. It’s complicated. It’s messy. It’s-“

 _”But I’m asking it of you.”_ Something clicked. “This is the thing. I love you, Renly. And I know you love me and have this idea about protecting me. But we’re supposed to be partners, right? Equals. That means I don’t just want you when you’re perfect. I never did. I want the messy stuff too, and the complicated stuff, and maybe I can’t empathise with having all those problems with your brothers but I can _learn_ , okay? You have to let me learn.”

Renly stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were liquid and huge.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said.

“Then I can’t,” Loras said, with the terrible weight of something like adulthood. 

“Are you – breaking up with me?”

“I don’t want to. God, I don’t. But I need you to make a decision.” To his horror, his voice quavered.

Pause.

“Then I’ll try,” Renly said. “I can’t – promise anything. Except I promise I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Loras said with a huge sigh of relief. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he would have done if Renly had said no. Possibly, ‘that’s okay, I’ll stay with you anyway’, and he really didn’t want to think he was that pathetic. Or more likely he’d have yelled, ‘THEN FUCK YOU, YOU ASSHOLE, I HATE YOU’, and various other things he would end up regretting. Instead he slid off the bed and into Renly’s arms. They held each other for a few moments. Then:

“We should go back downstairs,” Renly said against his shoulder.

“In a minute.”

“People will think we’ve slipped off to shag.”

“Let them. Which - come to think of it, why haven’t we?”

Renly giggled. “Later, okay? I think I owe you something special.”

“For sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Hmmm.....” Loras leaned back, running his hands down Renly’s shoulders to his waist, admiring him. “So many things.”

“Pick one.”

“Well...” There was still the delicious idea that had occurred to him so many weeks ago, involving restraints, but he figured they’d pushed enough boundaries of Renly’s comfort for one day. “You can blow me.”

“Why thank you.”

“You’ve earned the honour.”

Loras smiled and kissed him again.

“Did you know you’re the first person I’ve ever enjoyed kissing?”

Loras sat back. “What?” He linked his hands behind Renly’s neck and sat lightly on his lap.

“I never really liked it. Before you. Which sounds weird coming from someone who was always happy to go down on a guy, but there’s something about the tongue aspect that....I just thought of it like a necessary part of foreplay. Something people expected before we could get to the fun stuff.”

“How is it different with me? Tell me.”

“I want to kiss you for the sake of it. I love your mouth. I love _you_.”

“Like this.” Loras leaned in and pressed just their lips together, then pulled away, teasing. He couldn’t help the smile on his face, feeling warm and tingly all over. Everything was alright again.

“Like this,” Renly said, and gave him a proper kiss. Loras responded enthusiastically, running his hands through his boyfriend’s dark hair.

“We better stop,” panted Renly, “Later, okay?”

“Okay,” panted Loras, getting off him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Now _that’s_ more like it,” said Margaery, nodding when the two of them emerged hand in hand from the bedroom. Loras didn’t miss the assessing look she gave Renly, though: she might have gone to him out of sympathy and ingrained politeness that morning, but that look left no doubt where her true loyalties lay. Loras gave her a small, grateful smile and she beamed at him. In retrospect, he was kind of glad he'd swallowed his pride and bought her the Marc Jacobs handbag. Worth the saleswoman's giggling.

"Thank you," he whispered to her when no-one was looking.

"Merry Christmas, little brother," she whispered back.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Just so you know there won't be an update next week because I'll be taking a much needed holiday. Also it's the graduation ceremony for my doctorate. Guess what I wrote my thesis on. FANFICTION. No I'm serious. I did media and cultural studies and I managed to design a PhD around fanfiction. THAT IS SOME FANDOM DEDICATION MY FRIENDS I SHIT YOU NOT.

“Why don’t you just have this stuff shipped and pick it up when we get to Cambridge?” 

Loras gestured the variety of presents Renly had amassed during his stay in Highgarden. Renly supressed a sigh, pausing in his attempts to cram everything into a   
suitcase.

“It would cost too much,” he admitted.

“Oh. Well...what are you going to do about the stuff from Stannis’ place?”

“He’ll lend me a car. He may not like it, but he’ll feel obligated.”

“So are you....talking to him?”

“Minimally.” Renly sighed. He’d literally exchanged three texts with Stannis about picking his things up. It wasn’t a huge decline from their former relationship.

Loras smiled at him.

“So,” Renly finally managed to close the case. “Last chance. Are you absolutely sure you want to come with me? There will be literally nothing enjoyable about this.”

“And that’s why I’m coming.”

“Are you ready guys?” Willas called up the stairs.

“Coming!” Loras grabbed his own bag – they’d be heading from Central London directly to Cambridge, so he was taking his stuff with him. Willas was leaning on   
the bannister with his car keys in his hand.

“Thanks again for driving us to the station,” said Renly.

“No problem,” said Willas. Renly was sorry he hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Loras’ eldest brother, who seemed to be a source of calm and security for his sometimes melodramatic younger siblings. It was a novel concept. When he’d first seen Willas, he’d thought he looked – unwell. But the past few days had evidently been good for him, he seemed more relaxed and less pale, and was smiling.

“Ugh, bye,” Margaery flung herself on Loras and squeezed him tightly. “Text me when you get back.”

“I will,” Loras kissed her cheek.

“Lovely to meet you, Renly,” to his surprise, she hugged him too. He wasn’t so sure where he stood with her since the argument at Christmas, and patted her back a little awkwardly. Loras’ parents said their goodbyes, and then they were escorted in to see Olenna.

“Keep an eye on him for us, won’t you dear,” she said lightly to Renly.

“I’ll do my best ma’am,” he promised.

“And I’ll be in touch,” – suddenly serious, neither a threat nor a promise, but a statement of fact. He nodded, glancing sideways at Loras, who shrugged to say, ‘I don’t know what she means’ and they were dismissed.

“Wow,” Renly breathed out finally, in the back of Willas’ car. He’d noticed there was something adapted about the setup – it was an automatic, with the accelerator on the left. He wondered how hard it had been to get used to that. 

“You did great,” Loras punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Well, mostly.”

Renly got out his phone and typed ‘I love you’ on the screen. He showed it to Loras.

“I love you too,” exclaimed Loras, absolutely ignoring his attempt at discretion, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Loras,” Renly giggled nervously, glancing at Willas.

“Oh he doesn’t care,” Loras dismissed. Renly and Willas shared a look in the rearview mirror. They drove into Lindhurst centre. “You can just drop us here,” Loras indicated the parking bay. “Thanks bro.”

“No I might as well park, I have to get some cash.”

How might things have turned out differently, Renly wondered later, if Willas had stayed in the car. They got their bags from the boot, Willas unfolded his cane and Loras said,

“There’s a cash machine on the corner.”

“Right,” Willas stood using the cane, then turned and caught the end on a slick of ice. He lost his balance and fell, hard, landing on hands and knees. Loras dropped his bag, yelled his brother’s name and was at his side in a split second, helping him to sit back, saying

“Oh my God, are you okay?”  
Willas whispered, “Yeah,” but he’d gone totally white and was swallowing hard like he was trying not to be sick. A crowd was instantly attracted.

“We should call someone,” Renly said quietly, crouching in front of them and wishing everyone would stop looking. Loras had one arm around his brother’s back and the was rubbing his arm with the other hand. 

“No, no I’m okay,” Willas said breathlessly. “Just give me a second.”

“I shouldn’t have let you come out in this weather,” Loras fretted.

“Loras,” Willas glared at him.

“Do you need an ambulance, sir?” A policewoman had arrived on the scene, and her partner was dispersing the crowd.

“No, really,” Willas said, at the same time Loras said,

“He should go to a hospital,”

“Are you sure?” Renly asked him. Willas was still intensely pale, and biting his lip between sentences. 

“I just need to get home,” Willas closed his eyes for a second. “And take drugs,” he half-joked. “Prescribed drugs,” he added for the benefit of the police.

“I’ll call a taxi,” Renly offered. Loras nodded, so he did that.

“Okay, so...I’m gonna take Willas home,” said Loras to him quietly, when he and the police had gotten his brother off the ground and helped him sit sideways on   
the driver’s seat, the car door open.

“Obviously,” said Renly. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Text me when you get there.”

“Text _me_ ,” Renly said with a sideways glance at Willas, who was still very pale and clearly controlling frustration and anger. For a second, he thought he saw tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back quickly.

“I will,” Loras leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “See you soon, okay?”

Renly picked up his bags and with a last glance back to make sure the situation was under control and the taxi arrived, headed for the station before he missed his train. Fifteen minutes later he was sitting alone at a table watching the landscape as the train pulled out of the station. He reminded himself this was what he wanted. Every significant move in his life he had made alone, so why should just picking some things up from Stannis be any different? In any case, it was ridiculous to be resentful. Nobody had wanted this to happen, least of all poor Willas. He recalled how he’d looked, angry, in pain, and forcibly reminded himself to count his blessings. He looked at his bag and considered getting some reading out – there were multiple articles he needed to get through before the new term, and he really hadn’t done anything about that. After staring at the papers for a few minutes he closed his eyes, got his ipod out, and inserted his earbuds into his ears, queuing up some Mumford and Sons to indulge his mood. He kept his phone on the table, but it stayed silent, so after forty minutes he texted Loras,

_Everything ok?_

Sent at 14:45 27/12/12  
Eventually:

_Pretty much. Ofc W won’t c a doctor but I guess he knows what he’s doing  
Sent at 15:02 27/12/12_

_Tell him I said I hope he feels better  
Sent at 15:02 27/12/12_

_I will. Txt me tonight k x._

_Sent at 15:03 27/12/12_

_Okay. xx.  
Sent at 15:03 27/12/12_

__After that he must have dozed off, and woke when the train was pulling into Paddington. Striding down the platform in good trousers with his messenger bag over his shoulder, alone and in control of the situation, he should have felt like himself again. In his element. He didn’t, and was scarily close to admitting that Loras had changed something fundamental about him, or in him.

God damn it.

He really should save money and get the tube at this point, but he still had to drag the big suitcase around, and though it had wheels, he wasn’t about to manoeuvre it through those packed carriages. So taxi it was. He got out at Oxford Circus and made the familiar trek to Stannis’ townhouse. it was the last place   
he’d lived before Cambridge, and a flood of memories assaulted him as he climbed the steps. He’d just lifted his hand to knock when the quiet whirr of a CCTV   
camera informed him he’d been noticed, something buzzed, and the door opened.

“Melisandre,” he was taken aback.

“Renly,” she smiled radiantly, somehow managing to make it a challenge as well as greeting. “May the season’s blessings be upon you.”

“Uh, you too – hi Shireen,” – he smiled more genuinely as his little niece peeked out from behind Melisandre’s skirts. “Is daddy home?”

Shireen nodded and smiled shyly, whispering, “Hello Uncle Renly.” Melisandre turned so that her dress swished theatrically and seized Shireen’s hand, turning her   
away from the door and leading Renly down the corridor. 

“Do come in,” she commanded. “James, come and take Mr. Baratheon’s things.” An adolescent-looking doorman appeared out of nowhere to take his case and   
jacket.

“I’m not staying,” said Renly determinedly. “I’m just here to get-“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melisandre said. “It’s been too long. Come in and sit down. James, tell Martha to put the kettle on. Shireen, stop biting your nails.” She yanked the little girl’s hand from her mouth with unnecessary force and corralled them both into the sitting room. Great. Everything looked pretty much as it had done – upright chairs, floral upholstery, a shiny oak coffee table. The grandfather clock with its stultifying ticking. But there were new touches too, all speaking of Melisandre: a dark wooden cross hung on one wall, a framed devotional portrait, a rosary over one chair arm. The Bible had pride of place on the table now.

“Is my sister-in-law well?” Renly asked sweetly.

“Unfortunately not,” Melisandre sighed. “I’m afraid Mrs. Baratheon cannot leave her bed at the moment.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“We all have our trials. The Lord gives us no more than we may rise above, you know.”

“I have no doubt.”

Melisandre tilted her head, smiled, looked at him sideways. Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“Won’t you sit down,” she said at last. “Shireen, dear, go and fetch your father.”

The little girl scuttled off. Renly tried to smile at her but she was in one of her shy moods and didn’t meet his eyes. He sat. Melisandre remained standing. He wanted to stand up again. He wanted to tell her to stop smiling at him. An agonizing pause, during which an older woman brought in a tea tray, then the steady   
sound of footsteps. 

“Hi Stannis,” he said with deliberate false cheer when his brother came into the room. “You’re looking _well_.” That was just deliberately provocative. Stannis, as usual, looked grim – probably moreso than usual, and he’d lost some more hair. Stannis’ early baldness was the one thing that made Renly thankful he took after Robert more. Stannis ground his teeth.

“Renly,” he nodded. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Renly said.

“Melisandre,” Stannis said. “This won’t work.”

“Have faith,” she admonished him, and they sat in unison, both facing Renly. He loosened his grip on his teacup before he cracked it.

“Renly,” Stannis drew a breath. “This isn’t – I know we’ve had our differences. But you’re still my brother, my responsibility, and I cannot allow you to continue down this path.”

Renly made a show of looking around as though to visually locate the ‘path’ Stannis was talking about. No-one could bring out juvenility in him like Stannis.

“You know precisely what I mean,” Stannis ground his jaw.

“We are concerned for your immortal soul,” said Melisandre. “You might consider this a ‘lifestyle’, but God judges truly.”

“But I don’t believe in your God.” Ugh, they were pulling him in.

“But He lives, sees and judges, whether you believe in Him or not.”

“Stannis,” Renly appealed. “You don’t believe this. You’ve been an atheist since you were eight years old.”

Stannis looked chagrined. “I’ve been wrong in the past, Renly. You know it isn’t easy for me to admit that. God sent me Melisandre to-“

“Excuse me?” He actually laughed. “God _sent you Melisandre_? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Stannis face darkened. “You dare mock God,” he said. “You are more lost than I believed.” 

“And you’re more delusional,” Renly stood up, dusting off his trousers. “I shouldn’t have come. Let me just get my things and I’ll –“

“Renly.” Stannis grabbed his arm. He looked down, and for a second saw the genuine anguish there. “Please.” Stannis fought to get the word out. “I know you don’t believe me, but hell is real. My eyes have been opened. I’ve been saved. You are my little brother, and I – I want to guide you. To _help_.” He held his eyes. Stannis, pale and intent....he thought of the Tyrells, and the way that Stannis would give him the last of the cereal when he was seven and hungry, and the way he would listen to Renly practice his school his reading books, nodding sharply when he sounded a word out correctly....was there anything, anything left there?

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I’ll go.”“Wait,” Stannis said desperately. Renly didn’t look back as he headed up to his old bedroom, hearing Melisandre recite some proverb about the willingly damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I feel bad about using poor Willas as a plot device like that. But I needed a convenient way to split the boys up. I DID IT FOR THE ANGST :D


	15. Chapter 15

Whether or not Stannis had prepared for him, he couldn’t stay there. His old room bore the traces of unhappy adolescence. It was so – bare. The stripped bed, the wardrobe, the odd school trophy for good citizenship or the debating society. It was almost like he’d been afraid to personalize it, to show himself. Maybe he had. Other teenage boys in the early 2000s had Britney Spears and Angelina Jolie dressed as Lara Croft on their walls. He could hardly have advertised the fact, having only recently acknowledged it to himself, that Brad Pitt had been more to his liking. It had been a horrible time, confusing and lonely and still haunted by the shadows of financial insecurity. For all Robert’s promises they’d never have to worry about that again, he’d known by the age of twelve or thirteen that a promise from his oldest brother was an empty gesture. It was here he had felt the absence of parents most acutely. Stannis never wanted to talk about them. Robert would occasionally tell a story, when he was around, but it was impossible to connect someone else’s (unreliable) recollections to the empty places in his life where other people had ‘mum and dad’. 

Shaking off the memories, he packed up the few things that weren’t already in boxes, and Stannis sent up the doorman to help him carry it out to the waiting car.

“Where to, Mr. Baratheon?” said the driver. Renly briefly considered a posh hotel, but there was no-one to pick up the pieces anymore from his financial ‘fuck it’ moments. He sighed and named somewhere modest, but that he knew had a decent bar. His promise to Loras was in the back of his mind, and the self-recrimination of becoming Robert with his unreliability and evasions, but it wasn’t like he was _intending_ to get drunk tonight. He was just – not cutting himself off from the possibility. Like, if it got really bad and he just couldn’t bear to think anymore. It wasn’t like Loras would ever know, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

He checked in, and wanted – a drink. To shower. To hear Loras’ voice. Convincing himself it was the last he truly needed, he got out his phone and pressed recent contacts.

The phone went straight to voicemail.

Fuck. Well it wasn’t like he had the right to expect Loras pick up, he told himself bitterly. He was busy with his little family crisis. Immediately, he felt guilty for his selfishness – but guilt didn’t cancel resentment. 

His eyes went to the mini-fridge by the bed. It wasn’t like one drink would hurt, would it? Anyone would have a drink after the day he’d had. That was totally normal. He heard Loras say, ‘you abuse alcohol’. Because he drank to cheer himself up. Or forget his problems for a bit. But didn’t everyone do that? Hence the saying, ‘I need a drink’. And if everyone did it, it was hardly abuse, was it? Loras was overreacting.

*

Loras was on a train.

Having gotten his brother home and turned him over to his parents, he’d hung around anxiously for a bit just to make sure everything was under control. Mum had mostly taken charge of the situation – Willas was closest to her, and she’d seen everything after the accident, so he seemed to get less embarrassed or humiliated with her than anyone else. Then he’d gone to his room and had a little cry. It was just – it brought everything back. That day in summer. The doctor saying, ‘I’m very sorry. We’re doing everything we can, but you need to be prepared to say goodbye’. His father crying. How wrong that had been. He didn’t really know why he was crying. It wasn’t like – that had happened. But they’d all lost something. Maybe – innocence. The unassuming, unexamined belief that random terrible things only happened to other people, far away.  
Anyway. He sniffed and wiped his eyes as someone knocked the door. As he suspected, it was Margaery. She looked like she’d had a little cry too. They hugged each other.

“Bad memories?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Me, too.”

They sighed in unison.

“So Renly went to London?”

“Yeah,” Loras frowned. “I wanted to be with him.” At that, he checked his phone, and responded to Renly’s texts with assurances Willas was okay.

“So why don’t’ you?”

Loras gave her an odd look.

“It’s not even three o’ clock,” Margaery pointed out. “Trains go to Paddington on the hour. Go spend the night with him. Everything’s under control here.”

“I – Willas might-“

“He’s alright,” Margaery said gently. “You got him home, that’s what mattered. Don’t you think he’d want you to go?”

“I don’t know. Can I just turn up at Stannis’ house? Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“It’s weird for Renly already.”

“True.” Loras considered. He picked up his phone and made to text Renly, then a grin came over his face. “Actually, fuck Stannis. What do I care about his feelings? I’m gonna surprise my boyfriend.”

“That’s my boy,” Margaery approved. “Bring flowers.”

Loras gave her a ‘really though’ look.

“I bet you anything he’d appreciate it. Something classy. Roses. Hey, can I drive you to the station?”

“You can’t drive!”

“I have a learner’s permit now.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not get arrested to put the cap on this day.”

“Fine, take a take a taxi,” she sighed.

“Thanks Margy,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You give good advice.”

He was excited suddenly. Of course she was right. So here he was squashed between a middle-aged business guy and a mum with a baby on her knee in business class. He decided to check his phone again, just in case Renly was having problems, but the battery was dead. In his rush to leave the house he’d forgotten to charge it. Oh well. He’d be there soon enough.

He had Stannis’ address from Google, and as Renly had commented that he’d lived in the same place for ten years it must be his destination. He was feeling good – confident – enough that he actually stopped, bought the roses, and carried on with a big grin on his face. Fuck Stannis’ opinion. It wasn’t like they were going to make out in front of him. Amusing as that would be...

234 Kensington Rd was an ornate late-Victorian terrace with a black door and brass handles, the sort that were generally converted into guest houses. He walked straight up and knocked. A teenage boy in a doorman’s uniform answered after a moment. He was a cute little thing, looked Eastern European, with pointed features and the kind of floppy black hair all the emo kids wanted.

“Can I help you?” he asked in an endearing accent.

“Is this Stannis’ Baratheon’s house?” said Loras boldly.

“It is.”

“Well I’m Renly’s boyfriend. Is he here?”

The boy blushed. 

“Well?” said Loras impatiently.

The boy hesitated. Then after a long moment he stepped outside, and closed the door halfway behind him. He indicated that they should step off the porch – out of view, Loras guessed, of security cameras.

“He was here,” he said in a low, uncertain voice. “But he left. I think he and Mr. Baratheon – the older Mr. Baratheon – had some kind of fight.”

“Oh,” said Loras. That was bad.

“Ms. Asshai wasn’t happy to see him. She was saying...”

“Who?”

“Oh Ms. – Mr. Baratheon’s PA.”

“What was she saying?”

The boy looked furtive and guilty. Loras oddly wanted to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“She doesn’t approve,” said the boy in a low voice. “Of well – well, you.”

Loras snorted. “Oh, her.”

The boy looked petrified.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. Do you know where he went?” 

The boy paused.

“I shouldn’t but...I can ask the driver.”

“Please. It would really help me out.”

The boy looked back and forth once, then said,

“Wait here,” and slipped back into the building. Loras kicked pebbles around until he returned.

“He’s at the Kingsway,” said the boy. “It’s a hotel off Eaves Roundabout. Any taxi driver will know it.”

“Thanks,” Loras slipped the kid a fiver. The boy smiled tentatively and pocketed it.

“Um, good luck,” said the kid. He was looking at the roses a bit wistfully. Loras nodded in acknowledgement, then on impulse asked,

“What’s your name?”

The boy made a face. “Satin. I know, I know.”

“Well that’s – “ Loras tried not to laugh. “Uh, that’s cute.”

The boy gave him a baleful look.

“Well, gotta go. Thanks again, kid. You’re alright.” He gave into his impulse and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“I’m eighteen,” he insisted. “I couldn’t work if I wasn’t.”

“My lips are sealed.”

The boy smiled gratefully. Loras took his leave, shaking off the odd feeling of melancholy the kid left him with. He got a taxi and sure enough, the driver knew the place – a   
modestly sized but tidy independent place. Loras grinned. Cash-strapped or not, Renly could never quite bring himself to stay at a Travel Inn.  
He got the room number from the girl at the desk and hurried up the stairs to the second floor. Inexplicably, he felt nervous. Taking a deep breath as he knocked the door, he almost felt like he was in a film, watching himself from outside.

No answer.

He knocked again, louder.

“Ren?”

Pause.

“Renly, its me...” 

This was getting less romantic by the second. he double-checked the room number – yep, 21. He tried the handle. The door opened. Loras froze.  
Renly was sitting at the table with a bottle of whiskey in front of him. He had earbuds in, which explained why he hadn’t answered the door. Seeing Loras he jumped, stood up sharply, knocking the bottle over. It fell on the floor and rolled conspicuously, managing to end up literally at Loras feet.

“Well,” said Loras flatly and dropped the flowers. “So much for that promise.”

“I didn’t,” Renly said quickly. “I was thinking about it, but – I didn’t. Loras, what are you doing here?”

Loras frowned and picked the bottle up. Sure enough, the seal was unbroken. He stalked over to Renly and grabbed his chin, turning his face back and forth to check his eyes. He looked sober. There was no smell of alcohol in the room.

“Well,” Loras said again.

“I haven’t touched it.”

“So why....hang on,” he shut the door. “Why the fuck did you have the bottle out?”

“I was...”

“You were going to.”

“Maybe.”

“Probably.”

“I don’t know.”

Loras sighed and sat down on the bed.

“Thanks for the flowers?” Renly said hopefully. Loras looked over at the mess on the floor. And then he had to laugh. Bitterly, but still a laugh.

“You’re welcome. Jesus. Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of high maintenance?”

Renly gave him a lopsided grin. It was so cute that Loras went over, grabbed his face and kissed him. He didn’t taste alcohol.

“If I hadn’t walked in that door,” he said, “Would you be pissed right now?”

“It takes me more than two shots to get pissed.”

“Don’t joke.”

Renly looked down.

“I don’t want to be a babysitter, Ren. I want to believe you keep your promises.”

“I suppose,” Renly said after a moment. “If I want to be the kind of politician that’s actually different to Robert, I should get on that.”

“You really should.”

Renly sighed, then got up, found the bottle, and poured it down the sink in the kitchenette.

“Thank you,” said Loras.

“I’m gonna need your help with this.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you.” In return, Loras picked up the flowers, and offered the rather crushed, lopsided bouquet to his boyfriend. “Er – surprise?”

They just looked at each other and started gigging, and giggled till they were both crying, and had collapsed on the bed together, tangled up.

“Oh my God,” said Renly. “If you’d told me a year ago this was how I’d be spending my holidays, I’d have...”

“Have what?”

“I’d have had no idea how lucky I truly am,” Renly said, and kissed him.


	16. Epilogue: July 2013

Loras took his seat in the auditorium next to Margaery, eyes going to single out Renly among the rows and rows of graduates in their identical robes and hats. They’d mocked him mercilessly for the outfit, of course, and Loras had pretended that the stupid hat thing turned him on, joking

“Hmm, how late do you have to return this, baby?”

To Renly’s embarrassment, but in truth he was ridiculously proud. First class honours from Cambridge. Fewer than a quarter of the graduating class could say that, and that was on top of the hard resolution to give up alcohol. Okay, there had been slip-ups. Two minor, and one major during exam stress, which led to an epic fight and a temporary breakup until Renly showed up at his door with a massive apology, flowers and resolve to do better. He’d actually swallowed his pride and gone to a course of sessions with the college counsellor, which Loras was glad about, but at the same time a little upset that Renly hadn’t just come to him to talk things through.

“Sometimes you need a neutral party,” Willas had advised him over the phone. “Remember after the accident, I had to go see that woman? Initially I was sceptical and thought it would be a lot of vague nonsense about looking on the bright side, but the truth is it really helped being able to talk about stuff to a stranger who’s just there to listen confidentially.”

“How long did it take?”

“Until what?”

“I mean, how long did you see her for?”

“I still do. Not very often, but every couple of months or so.”

“What?!? But you’re like, the most well-adjusted person on the face on the planet!”

“Well,” Willas had said reasonably. “Maybe I have a good counsellor.”

“My boyfriend is so smart,” Loras sighed happily and squeezed Margaery’s hand. They finally managed to catch Renly’s eye and waved theatrically. Loras blew him a kiss. Renly blushed and looked down but Loras could see him grinning. The graduation ceremony was in one Cambridge’s huge Senate House, and promised to be a rather long, boring day with lots of speeches, while Loras stifled and fidgeted in his new suit, but it was worth it to see Renly’s moment. Plus he couldn’t help but notice all the parents, grandparents and siblings who turned out for the other graduates. When the time came for Renly to cross the stage and receive his degree, he and Margaery cheered extra loudly. Loras yelled,

“FIRST!” and several people turned round to glare at him, but several more upped the applause, and Renly turned bright red as members of his graduating class clapped him on the back. 

On the other side of the Senate Hall sat Cersei and Jaime with their father and an uncle. One of their cousins was graduating – they had about a million – and Loras had to physically restrain himself from booing when the conspicuously blonde boy crossed the stage – though he noted with satisfaction that most of his classmates gave him a wide berth and no-one cheered particularly loudly. The Lannisters hadn’t noticed him yet. He was still a tiny bit worried about them. Cersei had taken the odd bit of petty revenge, letting herself be photographed with the son of some ridiculoulsly rich Spanish aristocrat. The guy was a hereditary billionaire and – to be frank – smoking hot. Like, quite possibly the objectively hottest person Loras had ever seen, but he went around in designer shades that made him look like an asshole. Cersei appeared in top restaurants hanging off the guy’s arm, beaming and dropping hints to the tabloids about how nice it was to be dating an adult. Loras sincerely hoped he was thick as shit and frustrated Cersei everyday with idiocy. But it didn’t seem like...enough. How long was Cersei’s game? How vindictive was she? Either Renly’s had overestimated her capacity for revenge, or she was building up to something.

The ceremony dragged on, everybody wilting in their formal wear, and Loras and Margaery texted each other on silent.

 

To: Margy  
What did gran want to talk 2 u about?  
Sent at: 11:09 17/07/13

To: Loras  
You :P  
Sent at: 11:09 17/07/13

To: Margy  
Really? Am I getting present? U have had little smile on ur face....  
Sent at: 11:10 17/07/13

To: Loras  
No not really. Jesus. Self-important much?  
Sent at: 11:10 17/07/13  
To: Margy  
What then? Smth good?  
Sent at: 11:11 17/07/13

To: Loras  
Can’t say yet. But yes. Potentially smth v. good    
Sent at: 11: 12 17/07/13

 

He knew better than to pester her when she was being closed-mouthed. She would only hold onto whatever it was longer, to annoy him. Margaery was joining him at Emmanuel in October and he couldn’t wait. It would take the sting slightly from Renly leaving. What exactly Renly would be doing was still up in the air. He’d had two offers for paid internships from global development companies, but they would entail moving, and excited as he was at the prospect of seeing the world, his heart was in England, with Loras and the government he wanted to reform. When at last the ceremony finished, there was a garden party, with actual champagne, Pimms and strawberries and cream but also sandwiches and cake. They made Renly pose for photographs. Predictably, a couple of tabloid reporters had turned out, but Renly was old news for the moment and they were mostly preoccupied with trying to catch Cambridge students pissed and acting like idiots for a good moral-outrage story.

“Guys,” said Renly. “This is getting ridiculous. I want to take this stuff off now.”

“One more, one more,” Margaery adjusted her camera. “Let’s have you two kissing.”

Never very comfortable with public displays of affection, Renly glanced around, made sure no-one was watching, then grabbed Loras and kissed him quickly and thoroughly. Loras smiled into the kiss, and felt the camera go off at exactly that instant.

“Perfect!” Margaery squealed. “Oh, that’s too cute.”

“Don’t perve on my boyfriend,” Loras complained, and grabbed the camera off her to see. It was a lovely capture, he had to admit.

“Oh,” Margaery checked her phone. “We have to go.”

“Go where?” Renly asked, though he looked pretty to relieved to be escaping the party. Because he knew everyone but didn’t have many friends, he’d had to exchange superficial congratulations with probably sixty people, before thanking the college master, the PhD student who’d supervised his dissertation, the head porter, and the laundry woman.

“We have someone to meet,” said Margaery mysteriously, and led them out to a tiny tearoom Loras had never been in. The person sitting at the corner table couldn’t have surprised him more:

“Grandma!”

“Hello dear. Renly, congratulations. I hear you received first class honours.”

“What are you doing here, Gran?” asked Loras, when hands had been shaken and hugs and kisses received.

“Believe it or not, dear, your doddering grandmother is still capable of taking the train and a taxi,” said Olenna dryly.

“But – I mean – why didn’t you come to the ceremony?”

“Oh I’m far too old for all that,” she flapped a hand impatiently. “At my age, one makes the most of the time one has left. I’m not about to waste three or four hours clapping like a   
trained seal in a sweltering auditorium. Ah, the tea.” 

She had taken the liberty of ordering for everyone. Loras realized now why Margaery hadn’t eaten at the party. She might have warned him.

“Now then,” Olenna turned to Renly. “Impressive as it is, I must admit I am not here solely to congratulate you on your academic achievement. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, young man, and Loras will tell you I rarely say this, but I have been impressed.”

Renly opened his mouth as though to say something, but Olenna cut him off.

“You have voluntarily separated yourself from your brothers, at the expense of your career, which I can only say that I admire. I’m aware you’ve had offers to move abroad, but to be frank, I feel that would be a sad loss for England – as well as, I admit it, my rather besotted grandson. As such, I am inclined to make you a counter offer.”  
Loras stared in shock. Renly tried hard to maintain his composure, and Margaery hid her smile behind her hand.

“How would you feel about joining us at the Rose Foundation?”

“I – well, that would be – I’d need to –“

“As a junior researcher initially,” Olenna waved her hand. “And you’d have to be interviewed like everybody else. I am not a believer in nepotism. However, my daughter-in-law is seeking to expand our outreach in the London and boroughs, and the combination of your background and degree I would suggest makes you an ideal candidate. I’m afraid these ones born with every advantage, and the best education, sometimes real insight into the state of the country.”

“That would be – I’d be-” Renly pulled himself together. “I would be delighted to be considered.”

“Excellent. And a strong platform from which to stand for MP, I’d imagine. Interview is on Monday then. Ten o’ clock, six Knightley Way. Margaery will show you the offices.”

There was more polite talk, and shaking of hands, and Loras and Renly squeezing hands under the table, and at last Olenna excused herself to go back to her hotel.

“Travel does wear one out as one ages,” she lied, “Margaery, be a dear and escort your old grandmother.”

The second they were alone, Loras and Renly hugged tightly. regardless of tea room decorum. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Renly exclaimed.

“I didn’t know! Oh my God, this is – this is perfect.”

“I don’t have the job yet,” Renly cautioned.

“Oh please. Even if we didn’t _know_ you, you would, objectively be the best candidate. Bloody first in soc-pol from Cambridge.”

“I wonder if it’s more to do with....” Renly hesitated. “Last Christmas, I said rather more than I meant to about my past to your grandmother. I suppose at times there’s something to be said for a bit of openness.”

“There very usually is,” said Loras seriously. “But Renly?”

“Mmm.”

“I really, really want to take this suit off now.”

“I believe I could help with that,” Renly said with a wicked grin.

“CELEBRATION SEX!” Loras said far too loudly, and an elderly couple at the next table dropped their tea cups with a clatter.

“Shh,” Renly giggled, grabbed him by the hand, and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right now. I think you made me brave enough, Loras – brave enough to stand up to my brothers, to do the right thing instead of the easy or expected thing.”

“I am pretty awesome like that,” Loras teased.

“You really are my love,” Renly agreed, and kissed him.

 

 

 

The End.


End file.
